


Number Thirteen

by summerborn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Alternate Reality, Blind Date, Dominant/Submissive Relationships, M/M, Master/Servant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-12
Updated: 2007-09-12
Packaged: 2017-10-28 06:46:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/304913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerborn/pseuds/summerborn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Hermione have been friends for a long time, but he still isn't too sure about her suggestion to use a dating service (especially when that dating service has a reputation for catering to, shall we say, "alternative" tastes). What follows is a mix of passion, disappointment, meddling, and new discoveries, as Harry finds himself facing choices and situations he'd never dreamed of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Number Thirteen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bewarethesmirk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bewarethesmirk/gifts).



> Many many thanks to the exchange moderator, and to my betas for their help! Any remaining errors or plot holes are entirely my fault. For lj: bewarethesmirk at the 2007 hp_summersmut exchange.
> 
> [http://summerborn.dreamwith.org/profile](http://summerborn.dreamwidth.org/profile)

It had not been a good day for Harry.

First he'd overslept, missing his alarm clock for the second time this week, and he'd been in too much of a hurry to get breakfast. Then Professor Marshall had wanted to speak with him about the history project he had due – in just two weeks! – and he'd been late for his next lecture. Finally, he'd spent two hours at the library shelving books, which was fine except that the bloody heater had gone on the fritz again and he hadn't remembered to bring an extra sweater – although with as cold as it was, what he needed was a full overcoat, extra sweater, mittens, hat, and scarf.

"I swear," he said to his flatmate as he dumped his books on the dining table, "it was colder inside that old building than it was out!"

Hermione Granger pushed her bushy brown hair back out of her face and clucked in sympathy. "Sounds terrible, Harry. Have a biscuit."

"Thanks." He slumped into one of the other chairs at the table and grabbed one of the biscuits from the table. He bit into it and eyed his books warily for a moment before glancing up at Hermione. "Are these... low-fat or something?"

She put down her pencil. "Honestly, Harry, you sound like I was trying to poison you. They're nutritious. And it means you can have two instead of just one."

"Two? I was hoping to help with the rest of the box."

" _Harry._ "

"All right, all right." He pushed his glasses up on his nose and frowned over to peer at what she was working on. Math. Pretty advanced stuff, too. He made a face. "How's that big paper coming? Wasn't it due sometime this week?"

"Tomorrow." Hermione went back to her papers.

Harry stared. "Aren't you worried? You were freaking out about it last weekend."

"Ah, that was before I had my monthly session with my Mistress." She smiled, and he blinked for a minute before remembering.

"Oh... yeah." Normally he might like thinking about two girls in bed together, but not when one of those girls was Hermione! She was practically a sister to him.

He just didn't think he would ever understand the kind of things Hermione did for fun. Anyone who actually enjoyed vector calculus was obviously living in a different plane of existence. He sighed and reached reluctantly for one of his history books.

"Harry? Are you all right?"

"M'fine," he mumbled, flipping the book open to the middle. "I just had kind of a rough day, is all."

Hermione was looking at him critically. "You need to get out more."

He rolled his eyes. "Get out more? Hermione, that would just give me less time for revising, and I need more time, not less."

"No, that's not right at all. Studies have shown that you need some relaxation time, to regather yourself, between revision sessions. You can't just work all the time, your brain would overload."

"Are you sure you're the Hermione Granger I know? 'Can't work all the time'?" He looked pointedly at her homework she was revising, and she blushed a bit.

"That's exactly why I make sure to go out once a month at a very minimum. It helps me come back fresh. You haven't – well, I'm sorry, Harry, but you haven't had a date since the start of term, have you?"

"No," Harry replied glumly. "I've just been busy."

"Maybe... Maybe you should think about a Master, Harry. Someone to make sure you do what you need to do, at least part of the time. And you don't have to worry about anything when you're with a Master – you just do whatever they say and someone else is responsible for everything. It doesn't even have to be about sex if you don't want." Hermione sighed, a far-off look coming to her eyes, and Harry began to think he understood why she liked it. To Hermione, even sex wasn't really about sex, it was about responsibility and trust and emotions and stuff like that.

"I don't think I could do it, Hermione." Harry flipped the book shut in frustration. "I can't even find someone to go out on a normal date with – how am I supposed to find someone to be a 'Master' and do all that other stuff for me?"

"Oh, that's the easy part," Hermione said. "There are services set up for this sort of thing, you know. You just call one up and tell them the sort of person you'd like to meet, and they arrange it all. Very discreet."

Harry stared. Trust Hermione to know the answer to everything. "A service? I can't imagine calling up and telling some eighty-year-old receptionist that I want to be hooked up with... I mean... Ugh, Hermione. Really ugh."

Hermione gave him a Look. "Don't go imagining things to be the most horrible they could possibly be, Harry. Honestly. I used one called Moonlight Escapes – it's run by a friend of a friend of mine, together with his partner. But like I said, he's very discreet. And I've known him for years, so it's not like this is some stranger." She hesitated for a second, and then went on. "I'll call him for you, if you like."

Harry played with a sheaf of papers, thinking. Someone else to be in control for a while. Someone else to make the decisions, and if there was some physical satisfaction thrown in, well, he certainly wasn't going to complain about that. And Hermione was willing to help him out – there was a reason they were best friends, after all. "All right," he heard his voice saying. "Give him a call. Then what happens?"

Hermione was smiling at him. "Remus will come over with a portfolio, some options, and then he'll help you pick someone out. Oh, I think you're going to be in for a treat, Harry. And just see if it doesn't de-stress you at the same time."

"Yeah," Harry mumbled. Actually, it just added one more thing for him to stress _about_ , but he also had a kind of nervous anticipation curling in his chest, too. Maybe it would be good. Maybe.

* * *

Apparently Hermione had wasted no time in setting the appointment up with this "Moonlight Escape" service. Frankly, Harry thought it sounded a little dodgy, but he wasn't going to tell Hermione that. He would have expected some kind of office, maybe, if this was really all above board.

"He doesn't make any money at this, Harry. There's no budget for office space." Hermione had given him a last critical look before going to answer the knock at the door. "Now, don't worry about a thing, Remus is going to take care of everything."

Right. Harry sat on the edge of his armchair, trying to look relaxed and casual as if he had hook-ups like this arranged for him all the time, and failing miserably. He heard the door open.

"Remus, hello!" Hermione's voice floated back into the living room. Harry wondered if he should get a book or something, try to look like he wasn't just sitting here waiting. A man's deep voice murmured something back to Hermione, but Harry couldn't make it out. The sheer masculinity of it, the sensuality, made him shiver. It had really been too long since he'd had a date.

"Pleased to meet you," he heard Hermione say. Harry blinked. Someone new was here too? Surely this Remus person hadn't brought someone to be the 'Master' so soon, had he? Harry thought there was going to be discussion! A trial period, some warning, something!

Just then Hermione appeared in the doorway with two men trailing, and Harry jumped. He got to his feet, trying to cover it, and smiled weakly at the group.

"Harry, this is Remus Lupin, and this is his partner Sirius Black." Harry started forward with his hand outstretched automatically, and took in the strange appearance of the two men.

The first thing Harry noticed was that both of the men were wearing matching collars – dog collars, if he wasn't mistaken. The one introduced as Remus looked... well-kept. He was wearing a silky looking shirt in solid black, and some rather nice jeans. The other man was much taller, with long black hair, and a sort of satisfied look on his face that appealed to Harry immensely. They were both older, though, maybe around forty, and it was obvious that these two were involved with each other. They were wearing matching collars, for goodness sake.

"Hi," Harry managed. "Um, won't you sit down?"

"Thank you," Remus said in that low throaty voice Harry had heard, and Harry shivered again. For a second he thought the other man, Sirius Black, had seen it, but the only expression on his face was that amused satisfaction. Harry resolved to keep any physical reactions purely to himself.

He noticed Hermione hovering and grinned at her. "Come on, Hermione, you can sit down too. I know you'll have a ton of advice for me when we get talking about things."

She grinned back, a bit sheepish, and sat in the other armchair. "I just remember the first time I did this, Harry. It's fun, trust me."

Remus gave her an indulgent smile and then laid down the thick binder he'd been carrying. "Now then, Harry, if you don't mind, let's get down to business. Because our business is pleasure." He winked, to show that he wasn't taking this too seriously because who could, with a slogan like that, and rested his hand on the top of the book. "Hermione hasn't told me much about you, just that you're considering looking for a Master to try things out, and see how it goes."

Harry nodded.

"One thing I should tell you," Remus went on, "is that there are a lot of people in this book – men and women – and Masters come in a very wide range. But one thing you won't see in this book are pictures."

Harry glanced over to the other man, Sirius Black, but his expression was unchanged. He licked his dry lips and looked back at Remus. "Why's that?"

"Appearance isn't something that matters," Hermione put in. She looked at Remus. "Sorry."

"No, you're quite right." He smiled at them both. "Masters are talented people, Harry, and what they can do is much more important than how they look. Of course, once you meet whoever you choose you'll know what they look like, and you can always change your mind at any point in the process."

"All right." Harry nodded towards the book. "So what do I choose based on, if not looks?"

Remus' smile widened a bit and he opened the book. "Lots of things," he said, stroking his fingertips down the first page almost reverently. "I understand this is your first time? So you'll probably want someone with a bit of experience."

Harry shot a panicked look at Hermione. He wanted someone with a _lot_ of experience, actually! She saw his look and cleared her throat. "I think Remus is just making sure we're all on the same page, Harry."

"Right." Remus nodded, and began flipping through some of the pages. "What we've got here is a bit of information on each candidate, about their preferences and desires – because the Masters are the ones who make the decisions when you're actually together, it's important for _their_ desires to be well-known by both sides in advance." His gaze slid over to Sirius Black for a moment and then back to the pages. Harry got the impression he knew which of them was the Master, which was strange because Remus was doing all the talking. Mr. Black hadn't even said a word. He would have expected that the Master would be bossing the other about.

Remus saw his glance and smiled. "Not all relationships are the same in the bedroom as they are out of it," he said. "And in any case, different Masters want different things. As you see here," he indicated an information sheet in the binder, "this particular gentleman is quite strict. He prefers his partners to be completely subservient."

Harry read over the sheet. That sounded like what he had expected, and frankly he wasn't sure why Hermione found it so appealing. Who wanted to act like a slave for an hour or two at a time?

"Whereas this one..." Remus flipped a few more pages in the book. "This gentleman is much more of a fatherly figure. He is quite solicitous."

Hermione was peering over at the book too. "Oh, I remember him!" Harry's jaw dropped a little, and she blushed again. "Well, when I was first getting started, I tried out quite a few until I found one I wanted long-term."

Remus was nodding. "Not all of these are looking for someone to be a 'regular,' like Hermione has, but some of them are. Is that... is that something you might be interested in?"

"I don't think so," Harry said hesitantly. "I think at first it would be nice to know that I wasn't... being evaluated or anything. That it was definitely just a one-time thing."

"All right." Remus flipped through some more. "Here's one. He's very popular with the ladies, but occasionally takes the young men as well. Likes them your height, too." He gave Harry an appreciative look, which made Harry blush.

And then look over at Mr. Black again. He couldn't help it. It was just too strange, to have these two men in his home, and wondering about the nature of their relationship. Mr. Black was looking at him, more amused than annoyed, which was a relief but Harry still felt rather self-conscious. He wanted to ask Remus – who seemed friendly enough – if Mr. Black didn't talk, or something, but there was no way to do that while he was in the room. He turned his attention back to the profile sheet. "Forty-five years old?!" he yelped.

Remus smiled and Hermione frowned. "Well, experience does take time. Believe me, Harry, you won't mind his age when he's got you wrapped up in those arms of his."

"Er... I don't know about this part, though." He pointed. "I don't want to dress up like anything. Not girly."

"Of course," Remus murmured, looking Harry up and down again. "I have a feeling we'll find something precisely suited to your... hm, she'd like you – male, you say? yes, of course. Number 47 is always a good... well, you probably don't want that. Something more casual. Ah. How are you at blowjobs, Harry?"

Suddenly everyone in the room was looking at him, and Harry wanted to hide underneath the table. "Okay, I guess," he muttered, embarrassed beyond belief.

"By which I take it that you've done it once or twice, never had any complaints, and wish I hadn't asked you in mixed company?"

Harry had to smile at how accurate that was. "Yeah," he said. "But I could be better, I think," he added boldly.

"Couldn't we all?" Remus murmured and nudged Hermione, who giggled. Harry stared at her.

"So what you want," Remus resumed, "is perhaps someone who is willing to teach you. Show you a few things, but strictly on a one-time-only basis." He shook his head, expression thoughtful. "We don't have too many who are willing to break people in for others... Ah, how about Number Thirteen?" He turned the pages in the binder until one sparse profile page came up.

There was hardly anything written on it about what the man liked, and Harry frowned. "What is Number Thirteen looking for?"

"Number Thirteen takes all sorts," Remus answered lightly. "The catch is that he only takes them for a single session – there wouldn't be even a chance of a repeat."

"Well, that's good for me, though, isn't it?"

Remus inclined his head. "I suppose it is. Though most new people prefer someone a little more... forgiving."

Harry thought about this. "You said he's willing to teach, to show new things, and he doesn't want any repeats, so I wouldn't have to worry about doing well or any of that. What do I care if he's forgiving?"

Hermione had been peering at the page intently. "Oh..." she said softly, and looked up at Harry. "I remember Number Thirteen. One of my first, too, and he was..." She touched the profile sheet with one hand. "Very... very good."

Remus patted her hand and smiled at Harry. "He is very good. And I'm fairly sure he'd like you well enough for a session – though I have to check to be sure of course, but I think Harry here will be good with Number Thirteen, wouldn't you say, Sirius?"

Mr. Black shifted on the sofa, then, his eyes still holding that amusement but with a strange light to them. "I'd say so," he said.

* * *

Studying was easier to find time for, now that he wasn't worrying about what he was supposed to be doing in the way of finding a date or impressing this boy or anything, but Harry was finding it difficult to concentrate, as well. What kind of person signed up for this sort of service, as a 'Master', and took on just about anyone but would never see someone twice? Harry wondered if Number Thirteen was lonely. Or maybe he was in a committed relationship that didn't let him be in charge, so he did this on the side to make up for it.

His mind swirled with theories, but there was no way to know anything for sure. He even ran an idea or two past Hermione, but she didn't know any more about Number Thirteen than Harry did, at this point.

Harry wanted to know what the man looked like, which just made Hermione go all fuzzy. Dark hair, tallish, penetrating eyes – like he could see into your very soul. At first Harry thought she was mistakenly describing Mr. Black, but when he twitted her about it she was very vehement. "Oh, no, you'd know him when you saw him, Harry. There's no mistaking that man."

The odd thing was that she said he wasn't actually very attractive, but it was still one of the best experiences she'd had with the service.

"If he had been open to repeat visits, I'd have asked for him again."

Harry mulled that thought over. "Maybe he doesn't have anything beyond the first date, so to speak. I'm still a bit unclear on what we're actually going to do."

"I told you, Harry, you don't have to worry about any of it. There's nothing you can do to prepare so you might as well stop worrying about it. Now, I happen to know you can read two pages per minute if you're concentrating, so finish that chapter by eight o'clock, please."

Harry sighed. Hermione was a good friend and very good at what she did, but sometimes she was just a bit too mothering for him. Not that he knew what it was like to have a mother anyway. He supposed he should be grateful. "Thanks, Hermione," he said, and picked up his book.

* * *

Remus had called back to confirm the date for Friday, and Harry managed to put it out of his mind for the rest of the week. When Friday morning rolled around, though, he began to worry. Should he dress up? Wear cologne?

He checked his calendar. There circled in red was the time he was supposed to show up: 7 p.m. sharp. And penciled underneath because Harry thought it sounded especially shady and he'd like to be able to erase it was the place: the Leaky Cauldron. Hermione had said it was a "charming" little inn in central London, and Harry was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.

Looking at the calendar, he realized what day it was and did a double take. The date was the thirteenth, and that made it Friday the thirteenth, and he was going out to meet Number Thirteen at some dodgy pub in London named the Leaky Cauldron. This could not get any stranger.

He managed to get through the day, though his advisor noticed he looked a bit jumpy and asked him five times if anything was wrong. Harry finally had to say his sister was expecting a baby any time now, which was clearly a lie since they both knew he didn't have any sisters. But his professor wrote it off easily enough, and Harry only belatedly thought he should have mentioned that he had a date. Closer to the truth and very believable. But then, he thought as he made his way back to his flat building, he would have been asked how it had gone, and he probably wouldn't want to be reminded of it once it was done.

He slid his key into the lock to unbolt the deadbolt and sighed. Just once, he said silently. No matter what, even if he liked Number Thirteen, it wasn't going to happen again, so he needed to let that sink in and the sooner the better.

Just once.

* * *

"Hermione!" Harry sorted through his closet in something like a panic. "Have you seen my green sweater?"

She appeared in the doorway. "Honestly, Harry, you should have picked your clothes out last night and laid them out. Then you wouldn't be in such a rush at the last minute all the time."

A pair of pants came flying out of the closet. "Spare me the lecture this time, please – have you seen it? You know the one I mean, it's dark and soft and I think you borrowed it two weeks ago– " Harry popped his head back out of the closet. "Hang on, did you ever give it back?"

"Oh," Hermione said with a slight flush creeping into her cheeks. "That sweater? I think I may have seen it – just a moment." Harry grinned and pulled out his shoes – wait, he couldn't just wear trainers if he was trying to make an impression. Dress shoes? Boots? Loafers? He really didn't have a lot of options. By the time he'd picked up every different pair of shoes in his closet and finally decided on the trainers, Hermione was back, sweater in hand.

"Here you are. Sorry about that."

"It's all right, Hermione. Just so long as I have it when I want it." He reached out and tweaked her nose playfully, and she swatted at his hand.

"Well, that's everything, then. And yes, I've got the directions and cash for a cab Just In Case because You Never Know, thank you very much, mother."

"All right, you've made your point," Hermione sniffed. "Just remember to have fun, and you'll be fine."

* * *

The Leaky Cauldron turned out to be one of those weird theme restaurants. In this case the theme was Halloween, or so Harry gathered from the witch's hats, broomsticks, and cauldron motifs. The cobwebs in the corner looked pretty authentic, too, at least as far as Harry could tell. He was supposed to ask the barman for a key to his room, so he picked his way around the crowded tables and through the knots of boisterous people, all out having a good time, until he came to the bar. He wedged in between a tall red-headed boy and a dreamy-looking blonde girl that looked to be about his age, and waved at the harried looking barman.

"Name?" The barman didn't seem interested in exchanging pleasantries, and Harry wondered how often he did this sort of thing. Did many of the meet-ups opt for the anonymity of a neutral location?

"Uh... Joel Richards."

The man reached underneath the counter and pulled out a little book, flipped through it to what Harry presumed was the Rs, and pulled out a key. "Room thirteen, second floor." He nodded toward the stairs and Harry thanked him. No one seemed to pay Harry any attention as he went toward the stairs, which he supposed he should be grateful for. He couldn't help but glance around at the crowd, looking for anyone he recognized, so that he could head any recognition off at the pass. If someone was going to spot him, he wanted to spot them in return and not be caught off guard by awkward questions on Monday morning.

But he didn't see anyone. The crowd at the Leaky Cauldron seemed to be a rather eclectic mix, and there were plenty of people his own age, but no one he recognized from school.

Once he was up the stairs, he was faced with a dark corridor. The sounds of laughter and talking from downstairs still drifted up, but muffled, as if they were in the next building over instead of just at the base of this staircase. Harry started down the hall, watching the numbers on the doors climb slowly, and when he got to room 13 on the left hand side, he stopped.

This was it, then. All he had to do was knock on the door and go in, and there was someone waiting on the other side to... to what? Tell him what to do? Make him some kind of slave for a few hours? Or – he remembered what Remus had said – teach him how to give blowjobs, for Christ's sake? Maybe he should just go home now before he made a complete fool of himself.

In fact, he was sure that's what he should do. He thought of facing Hermione and telling her that he decided not to do it after all. She'd probably tell him that he should have decided that days ago instead of inconveniencing everyone like this...

Just once.

It's just one time, he told himself. After tonight you'll never see this man again, and you just might actually enjoy yourself. Let someone else be responsible for a while. His hand reached up to knock, slowly, and he followed its path with his eyes as if it belonged to someone else. Then his knuckles made contact with the hard wood of the door, and there was the sound of two sharp raps.

Suddenly Harry was more certain than ever that he should make a run for it. This was crazy, this man was twice his age and notoriously "not exactly forgiving" – he probably preferred girls, or taller blokes, or shorter, or–

The door opened. Just a crack. All Harry could see was darkness, and some black hair across the man's face, and the light of the hallway reflected in two glittering eyes. Harry stared.

The man stared back for a moment, still just holding the door open an inch or two. Finally he spoke. "Yes?" The voice was impossibly low and just the slightest bit impatient. Not a good way to begin, Harry thought with a gulp. He'd best get to it, and remember that his job was just to do whatever this man wanted him to do.

"Sorry – I'm H– Joel." He didn't drop his eyes from the man's face, and after another heartbeat's time, the door opened wider, the man stepping back to let him into the room.

Hermione had said that the master would choose to tell his name or not depending on various things, so Harry still just thought of him as Number Thirteen. He couldn't help but look the man over curiously as he stepped past him into the room, and it was rather surprising. He didn't look like anything special. Just a man of about forty, medium build if a bit on the thin side, with a rather unfortunate nose, surprisingly long black hair, and dark, hard eyes. Only a few inches taller than Harry, which was nice, wearing plain white shirt and soft-looking dark trousers, though it was difficult to tell the shade of anything in the dim room. His expression was absolutely and utterly unreadable, which was more than a little unnerving. How was Harry supposed to tell if he was doing something right or wrong or anything?

He cleared his throat and looked at the room while Number Thirteen shut the door. It was a standard hotel-style room, though large, separated into a small sitting area (where he was now standing) and a doorway with a bed visible beyond. Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd been this nervous. What was he supposed to do now?

"So you're... Joel," Number Thirteen said, his voice a soft purr. Harry was reminded of Remus' low growl, though that man's was more harsh and throaty whereas Number Thirteen had a silky, deliciously rich voice like dark chocolate.

"You can call me Harry," he blurted, and then felt his face redden. Well, so much for anonymity, and so much for not making a fool of himself.

"Harry." There was a definite tinge of amusement in the man's voice, and Harry thanked the stars above that at least he could tell a bit of what was going on by the tone of Number Thirteen's voice, if his face was going to continue to give nothing away.

The man walked around Harry then, circling, and Harry could feel his gaze sweeping over every part of him. Finally Number Thirteen stopped directly in front of him, hands at his sides and looking perfectly at ease. Harry tried not to fidget under that cool gaze, but he was wondering like mad what the man was thinking.

They stood there for a moment, not speaking, and Harry began to feel a little lost in the depths of those black eyes. Well, he finally told himself after a moment, he really had nothing to lose here, so he may as well be as direct as he wanted to be. The worst that could happen would be Number Thirteen sending him home early, but even if that happened, at least Harry wouldn't have to worry about what to do or what to say any more.

"So, um, I'm not sure how much they told you about me, but this is the first time I've done anything like this, and I – I guess I would appreciate a little bit of guidance, because I–" Harry paused. The man hadn't moved a muscle, but he appeared to be listening. "Because I don't really... uh... know what I'm supposed to..." Harry trailed off, aware that he sounded about as dumb as was humanly possible.

Number Thirteen raised his eyebrows. "Yes?"

"I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing," Harry finished, trying to sound as dignified as he could.

"I see." Number Thirteen seemed to mull this over. "Very well. For now, what you are 'supposed to' be doing is standing there. I shall tell you when something else is required." Harry opened his mouth, and shut it again. Standing there meant no talking, he guessed, though Number Thirteen hadn't seemed annoyed or anything when he'd launched into his little speech a minute ago. Well, he had asked for it. At least now he knew he didn't need to do or say anything else. Harry just stood there, silent, and waited to see what Number Thirteen was going to do next.

Apparently, what he was going to do next was look Harry over a while longer. Harry was okay with that. He knew he wasn't the best looking bloke in the world, but Remus had said that Number Thirteen took all kinds. And he didn't need to worry about being approved; he was already here. There was no "next time" to audition for.

Number Thirteen gave a small nod after a moment, as if deciding upon something. "Well, Harry," he said, his voice light and conversational this time, "what I'd like next is to know a little bit about what it is you think is going on here tonight."

Harry was a bit confused by this, but he had nothing to lose, so he said quite honestly, "I'm supposed to do whatever you tell me to do. And we'll do whatever you like."

Number Thirteen stepped around behind Harry, then, as if he were looking him over again, but his footsteps stopped. Harry guessed the man was just off to one side, behind him, which made an itch develop between his shoulder blades, but he didn't turn.

"Tell me something." Harry jumped. That low, sensuous purr was right beside his ear! He could feel the warm breath against his neck. "Have you ever had sex with a man?"

Harry blinked. "I thought Remus would have told you."

"Just... answer the question. Harry."

Harry's eyes fluttered closed at the sound of his name rolling across that rich, milky voice. "Yes."

"Yes _what_?"

"Yes... I've had..." Harry's mouth was dry, and he felt more embarrassed at the words than he had felt showing up to have sex with a stranger in the first place. "I've had sex with a man."

"I see." The breath disappeared from his neck, leaving Harry with a cold shiver, but then it came back on the other side. "And what about women? Have you ever had sex with a woman?"

Harry shook his head. "N-no."

"No?" The voice was curious. Harry waited for the next question, but instead he felt the soft caress of fingertips against the base of his neck, passing over the juncture of neck and shoulder and fingering the edge of his collar. He shivered. And waited.

"Do you know what I'm going to do to you?" The voice was low, but casual, almost conversational.

"N-no." Harry fought not to lean back against the warm hand on his neck, which had moved over to the other side, fingertips stroking the nape of his neck.

"Would you like to know? _Harry?_ "

"Yes," Harry managed to say, "please."

The fingers took sharper hold of his neck, and then Number Thirteen stepped around in front of Harry, leaned down and kissed him. There was nothing subtle or gentle about the kiss – the man's lips were insistent, and Harry felt his own lips parting under the onslaught. Then there were two hands on him, gripping the back of his neck, his shoulder, moving about as if the man didn't know what he wanted to touch more, and Harry wondered wildly if he should be doing anything with his own hands. Number Thirteen hadn't said to, but then he hadn't said to return the kiss and Harry was doing that rather enthusiastically with no complaints forthcoming.

He was just considering raising his hands to touch that gorgeous long black hair when suddenly the man broke off the kiss. The fingers were gone from the base of his skull, and Harry blinked a few times in disorientation. "What – "

"Quiet." The man's voice was mild, as one might correct a very young child. "Get into the bed." He reached for Harry's shirt as if to lift it from his waistband, and then paused as if remembering something. For a moment they were frozen like that, staring into one another's eyes, and Harry noticed how much light there was reflected in those black depths. Then Number Thirteen took a step back, apparently recovering his equanimity. "Come with me," he said, and reached to wrap his fingers around one of Harry's wrists. Harry followed along, letting himself be pulled across the room to the large bed against the wall.

"So." Number Thirteen stopped him just a step away from the bed, let go of his wrist and sat down facing Harry. He seemed to have an almost predatory look on his face, and Harry liked it. "What I want you to do now... Harry... is to go down on your knees and suck me. You've done it before, I take it?"

Mutely, Harry nodded. He had done it, and had it done to him, but he had never "finished" someone off that way – it had always been a precursor to something else. Once again he found himself unsure and growing more nervous.

Number Thirteen seemed to take this in stride. "I may have a few comments about your technique," he said, "but don't let that worry you. After all, you may as well learn something while you're here." He smirked a bit, then motioned toward the floor.

Harry knelt, surprised to find a cushion already on the floor – oh, Number Thirteen had been in the room before him. He'd probably prepared for everything they were going to do. The thought was reassuring, as if someone had a plan and all Harry had to do was follow along. And like the man said, he may as well learn something. Hesitantly, he reached his hands out to brace himself on Number Thirteen's thighs. The trousers were indeed as soft as they looked, and thin enough that Harry had no trouble feeling the wiry muscles underneath. He looked up, and Number Thirteen was still smirking a bit, but he began to undo his trousers.

When Number Thirteen's hand disappeared inside his own trousers, Harry had to bite down a soft groan. The sight was mesmerizing, and he was rewarded when a few seconds later the trousers were pushed down to reveal the man's hand wrapped around his own cock. Harry's mouth opened by reflex, and his own cock began to respond. He was a rather oppressed college student, after all – not a date yet this semester – and the sight of another man's delicious erection was very enticing. He bent his head down, eager to lick up that small bead of precome forming at the head of Number Thirteen's cock, but he was stopped by a hand on his forehead.

"Um?" Harry said. He knew he wasn't supposed to speak unless spoken to, but hadn't the man said to suck him? And here he was, ready to obey.

"You don't just dive in with your tongue flapping, Harry." The man ran his thumb over Harry's lower lip. "Use your hand, first. Gently. Get me ready."

Harry nodded and slid one of his hands up Number Thirteen's leg to join the hand already there. Number Thirteen nodded and pulled his own hand away, slowly, and leaned back onto his hands.

This, now, this was something Harry knew how to do. The angle was different than when he did himself, but pressure and starting slowly were things he could understand. Number Thirteen's cock was thick and heavy in his hand, but the skin moved just the same as his own cock, and Harry began to stroke, his fingers curled tight around it. The drop of precome became a bead, and still Harry ignored it, waiting until he was given permission so that he could taste it. The cock grew even harder in his hand as he worked, and Number Thirteen shifted once as if getting into it. Harry glanced up to see the man staring down at him, eyes heavy-lidded with lust, and Harry had to smile a bit. He was doing this, and he was good at it because Number Thirteen liked it, and he would do whatever the man wanted and told him to and it would be fine, it would be good, and it didn't matter if he was horrible anyway because the man was never going to see him again after tonight.

"All right," Number Thirteen said. Harry was gratified to hear the catch in the voice, just as he pumped over the cock, and he knew how it was arousing and yet frustrating to have someone touching you, stroking you, but not paying any attention to the sensitive head of your cock. He raised his eyebrows.

"All right, put your mouth to good use," Number Thirteen growled. Harry debated for a second disobeying – holding out and just continuing the same motion, just to see what the man would do, but then Number Thirteen shifted as if he were going to put all of his weight onto one hand and use the other for something else, and Harry bent his head in a hurry. There was something about this man that _made_ Harry want to obey, even if he did seem to enjoy testing the limits.

He bent his head, and Number Thirteen pushed up slightly, not demanding, just presenting himself to be sucked. Harry paused a heartbeat to admire that cock – darker than the exposed stomach, with black curls around the base. Harry bent his head and, ignoring the cock altogether, pressed his face into the dark curls, nuzzling against Number Thirteen's balls. Before he could do anything else, Number Thirteen moved, lifting up a hand to catch Harry's chin in a cruel grip. Harry found he didn't mind the pinching fingers, though – he was almost sorry it wasn't more. For a split second, as their eyes locked, he envisioned Number Thirteen slapping him across the face for his disobedience, and his trousers tightened even more against his own straining cock. He must have tightened his grasp on Number Thirteen's cock, too, for the man drew in a slight breath and his eyes widened almost imperceptibly.

Then the moment passed, and Number Thirteen guided his chin so that his mouth was right next to that throbbing luscious head. Harry let go of the man's cock and Number Thirteen sat forward to press his cock against Harry's cheek. "You want it, don't you," he growled low and sensuous. It must have been obvious how badly he wanted to take Number Thirteen in his mouth, because the man just forced his cock against Harry's lips and rubbed it from side to side. "I know you want it," he said. "You don't need me to tell you how to do it – you already know, don't you?"

Harry's body reacted to that in a rather surprising manner – arousal. Sharp and instant arousal. He opened his mouth to say something – after all, the man had asked him a direct question, so he figured he was supposed to answer – but the instant his lips parted, Number Thirteen slid his cock between them, and Harry actually _did_ want it, so he gave up protesting. The hand on his jaw twisted, forcing his mouth open wider, and Harry's body sagged between Number Thirteen's legs as he gave himself up to the invasion.

The cock pushed further into his mouth, and then the hand moved from his jaw to the back of his head, and for a moment Harry wondered if this was smart, if he would be able to breathe, if this man was going to hurt him? But then he was distracted by the slide of cock against his tongue, and even without the hand forcing his jaw he kept his mouth only partly open. It meant Number Thirteen's cock scraped against his teeth, he knew, but he wasn't biting and it had to have been tighter that way as well. There was a pause, and then Number Thirteen began to pull Harry's head off of him with his fingers twined in Harry's hair. Harry let himself be pulled away, relaxing his jaw as he did so, and then the hand let go completely, and Harry set to work. Number Thirteen's hand was resting lightly on his head, and he figured that meant if he did anything wrong he might be punished (if you could call being forced to take a cock in your mouth "punished") but right now he had free reign to do things his way.

He took a moment to swipe his tongue across the tip of Number Thirteen's cock, tasting the faint tang of release there, but he didn't have a chance to wonder at the flavor before – ever mindful of the hand hovering around his head – he pushed back down, taking Number Thirteen deep into his throat, letting his tongue massage and work over the underside of the cock before pulling out and moving again. He brought one hand back up to the base of Number Thirteen's cock, holding it steady and adding a little squeeze and tug as he moved with his mouth. It actually wasn't that hard to coordinate and get the timing right, because his own mouth needed the same timing as well.

God, but the man's cock felt good in his mouth. Heavy and sweet, and Harry's own prick was really taking notice. He imagined rubbing up against it – but he was still clothed, and that made imagining difficult. Still, he felt a lot less vulnerable this way than he would have if he were completely naked, and he wondered if that was just coincidence that Number Thirteen had "let" him remain clothed. In any case, he was grateful. He swirled his tongue, wondering if that felt good, and had his answer when he heard a soft sigh escape Number Thirteen's lips. He glanced up as he pulled away a bit, and smiled around the cock in his mouth when he saw the aroused expression on the man's face. Should he know his name? Harry wondered out of nowhere. Surely he had a name. Something other than "Number Thirteen", anyway. No, he reminded himself, they were mostly anonymous here, and it didn't matter anyway because they weren't going to see each other ever again. Still... a part of Harry's brain whispered... it would be nice if you knew his name. I bet Remus knows his name. And Mr. Black does too, from the look of things.

Suddenly Number Thirteen had Harry's head in both hands, dragging him off the cock he'd been sucking. "What are you thinking about?" he demanded. Harry was more than a little frightened at this point – had he bitten him? His mind _had_ been wandering, was there a problem with that?

"S-sorry," he managed, stumbling over the words. "I'll do better, I–"

A rough shake again, and for a moment Harry wondered what he was going to do. It looked like Number Thirteen was about to demand another answer to his question, but then his expression relaxed slightly and he released Harry's head. His hands moved to stroke gently at Harry's hair, as if trying to smooth it down (which was impossible; no matter what Harry did his hair had a mind of its own). "It's all right," he said, and it wasn't said in a soothing manner but yet it had that effect on Harry. Some quality of the man's voice was innately soothing, and Harry's own cock bobbed inside his trousers reminding him of his own needs. Somehow Harry didn't think a surreptitious hand down his own trousers while he sucked Number Thirteen would go unnoticed, or allowed.

Number Thirteen saw the way he moved and obviously knew what he was thinking. Hermione had been right, Harry thought, the man seemed like he could read minds. He started to go back to what he was doing, but Number Thirteen stopped him.

"Time for something else. Stand up and undress."

Harry scrambled to his feet and toed his shoes off. He took off his clothes quickly, trying not to notice the way Number Thirteen watched, until finally he was stepping out of his pants. Number Thirteen stood up, and for a moment Harry began to panic again, but all the man did was motion him towards the bed, so Harry went to it and lay down.

The bedspread had been pulled down and the sheets were incredibly smooth. Not overly soft, like the flannel sheets Harry's aunt always used to use in the winter time, but smooth, like water had been tied up and put into two flat sheets on either side of his toes. Like chocolate. Like Number Thirteen's voice.

Then it was Number Thirteen's turn to undress, and Harry's turn to watch him as he stripped. His eyes were fixed on Harry's, even as Harry's eyes were fixed on those hands that moved over buttons and fastenings. The shirt was removed, and Number Thirteen betrayed no hint of shyness, even though he did not have the most handsome chest in the world. Wiry had been right, and without any clothes on there was nothing to take the relief off the hair and dark eyes.

But those eyes... Harry snapped his gaze back to them, wondering what he was supposed to do or say. The man was just standing there on the floor, not coming towards the bed, both of them completely as naked as the day they were born.

"Uh," Harry said, and it was like he broke some kind of spell. Number Thirteen rolled his eyes, looking just as put out as he'd done a few moments before when Harry had disobeyed, back when they'd both been wearing clothes.

"Just be quiet, Harry. Let me look at you." Harry's face flamed as he remembered what he was wearing. It wasn't enough that he was lying here naked; he was lying here naked and _aroused_ , and as his eyes roamed over the other man's body, he was becoming _more_ aroused. That cock really was something, and it had been in Harry's mouth. His lips twitched with desire, and his own cock filled with blood as he thought again about rubbing them together. Harry's experience wasn't limited to frottage, but he knew he liked it, possibly better than the sex. Well, being on the receiving end of the sex, anyway. When he'd topped it had been pretty good, but receiving was sometimes a little weird.

He realized they were staring at each other again, and he looked away, feeling vulnerable or shy. Number Thirteen took a step toward the bed, leaning down, and looked directly at Harry. "Trust me," he whispered, and then he was climbing up over Harry, straddling his legs. Harry was a bit confused when Number Thirteen pushed his legs together, but then he leaned forward onto his hands and canted his hips and there was contact and friction and the two erections rubbing together, and Harry hadn't seen when the man had got any lube but he must have in there because their cocks were slipping against each other and it felt amazing. His eyes closed involuntarily and his head fell back against the pillows, but Number Thirteen put a gentle hand on his cheek. "Eyes open," he said.

Harry obeyed, and he pushed away any embarrassment by reminding himself that Number Thirteen was practically a professional, even if he wasn't getting paid, and he'd seen probably hundreds of other people in just as compromising a position. Not to mention that Harry was never going to see this man after tonight, and even though he would have to tell Hermione about it, at least he could trust Hermione with his innermost secrets. With all that in mind, he let his arousal and desire and want show on his face, and though Number Thirteen's expression didn't really change, Harry thought he seemed pleased.

Number Thirteen was rocking against him more forcefully now, hand covering both of their cocks, and Harry wished he knew what to do with his hands. Just then Number Thirteen leaned down to place a wet, hungry open-mouth kiss against the underside of Harry's jaw, making his head fall back again, but he brought it back up so that Number Thirteen would be able to see his eyes, and then the man really surprised him by whispering, "You can put your hands on me if you would like."

Hesitantly, Harry reached his hands upward, letting one of them rest on Number Thirteen's shoulder and moving the other up to the man's hair. It was soft, and it felt even better when Number Thirteen tossed his head back, encouraging his grip. His fingers tightened close to the scalp, and the long hair brushed against his wrist and forearm as they rocked against each other. Harry was panting now with the pleasure of it. "Please," he whispered, a bit wary of angering Number Thirteen by speaking out of turn. But the only reaction was another nuzzle against his neck, taking Harry's hand along for the ride. "Please," he said again, not even knowing what he was asking for.

"You want something?" Number Thirteen murmured against the skin just below his ear, then licked it. Harry thrust his hips upward in response, wanting to feel all of it. The hand, the man's cock, everything was so much sensation, and his balls tightened and he knew what he needed. Release.

Number Thirteen shifted then, moving one of his legs to between Harry's thighs, nudging them apart. Harry was so far gone he didn't even dream of resisting. Anything this man wanted to do to him was fair game. He felt fingers sliding down the length of his cock, pausing to stroke his balls, rougher than he'd ever been himself but somehow it felt good, and then slip lower, into the sensitive place behind his sac, tickling against his skin.

"Too light?" Number Thirteen said, almost as if to himself as he watched Harry's reaction. All Harry could do to answer was push upward, wanting more contact, and Number Thirteen sat up on kneeling, so that he could take hold of Harry's cock with one hand even as he slid the other in, down towards his most private place. Oh, he'd been fucked before, but he never remembered wanting someone to slide a finger into him quite so much.

"Please," he said again, and then was horrified at his body's next action: he actually moved downward, seeking out the man's finger, trying to take hold of it, and it was so arousing the idea that he couldn't help it but he couldn't believe what he'd just done.

Number Thirteen didn't laugh, which mollified Harry only a little bit. Instead, the man stroked his cock slowly and teased the entrance smoothly, firmly, and Harry got control of his body again. He was okay with this, yes, but he didn't want to want it quite so much. Number Thirteen quirked an eyebrow and Harry nodded.

He was grateful again when Number Thirteen moved, back onto his hands and knees so that Harry didn't have to watch his face as that finger – oh! Inside him, now, and it was strange as ever and he couldn't help but tense up a bit, but then Number Thirteen was at his neck again, kissing and licking and even biting – those weren't playful nibbles, the man was going to leave a mark! – and the finger inside him twisted a bit and slid in further, and it wasn't bad. Actually, it was exciting to think that someone else would enjoy doing this to him, and if there was one thing Harry was sure about it was that Number Thirteen was enjoying this. _I mean,_ he thought a little dazedly, _obviously he must enjoy it if he regularly agrees to have sex with strangers, but he's actually having a good time right here, with me, right now._ It was a comforting thought.

With a sigh, Harry pulled his hands away from the man on top of him and stretched his arms out over his head. It was nice, in a way, to be the helpless one – he did trust Number Thirteen, which was strange. Had he ever trusted someone to fuck him before, or had he just grudgingly allowed it as some kind of trade, or payment, or retribution? Harry wasn't sure. But right now he felt like he liked it, and he actually wanted the thick cock he'd been sucking on just a few moments before to be inside him.

Their cocks were rubbing against each other again, and Harry could feel the pleasure growing. He was struck by a sudden thought – what if Number Thirteen wanted to finish him off this way? He'd much rather get fucked while he was still hard – it made it easier in his experience to distract himself from the cock up his arse – but he didn't know what Number Thirteen was planning to do. He placed his hand hesitantly on Number Thirteen's shoulder, unsure how to ask a question or even if he was allowed to ask anything or have any say in the direction of the evening's activities.

Number Thirteen seemed to sense a question, though, because he pulled away and looked at Harry's face, his body stilling and his finger stopping its slow twist and pump motion. He looked... not worried, but concerned at least, and Harry was once again reassured that not only did the man know what he was doing, but he was willing to take Harry's needs and wants into consideration. Even if he did order Harry around.

"What?" he growled harshly, but Harry could tell he was just unhappy about stopping and maybe a little afraid he'd hurt Harry or something, not actually angry about being interrupted. Harry had to smile a bit at that.

"I just... I just wanted to make sure..." Harry felt unaccountably shy, considering he was talking to someone who was even now fingering his arse.

Number Thirteen seemed to relax minutely, perhaps now that Harry had assured him that he wasn't being injured. He bent and kissed Harry's chin and neck again just for a moment, as if to say 'it's all right, you can tell me, I'll take care of you,' and Harry felt more reassured than ever.

"I just wanted to make sure... you were going to fuck me," he finished in a rush. Number Thirteen's head pulled back sharply, and for an instant he just stared and Harry felt like there was an actual connection in their eyes. It was the oddest feeling. Then Number Thirteen almost groaned a bit, shifting against him and pushing his finger farther in.

"Harry..." he murmured as he kissed some more. "I am going to fuck you."

"I mean, um, before." Harry felt his cheeks redden. He knew that wasn't really clear, so he summoned up all his courage and went on, "Before I, um, come."

Number Thirteen's look was appraising now, but he nodded slowly.

Then he was pushing two fingers in, and again Harry missed how the lube got there but it went in smoothly with no trouble and he just felt full and stretched. He moaned a little, then, and Number Thirteen let a small smile creep over his face. Then the fingers were gone, and Harry wriggled uncomfortably at the loss.

Number Thirteen parted his legs farther and knelt between them, urging his knees bent and with a last kiss on Harry's neck and trailing down his chest, he paused once more and Harry practically begged for it but held his tongue. Number Thirteen would tell him when he needed to do anything; for now he was just going to keep doing whatever the man wanted. He would take this and then have his turn, and that would be good enough. The man must have read some of his trepidation in his face, because he smiled softly and trailed a hand down Harry's chest. The smile looked out of place on the man's harsh face, but it just went to show Harry how much he was trying to put him at ease.

The finger was back again, teasing, and Harry relaxed, knowing that he already liked that part of it. Why or how he wasn't sure. But then the finger became more, thicker, blunter, and Harry watched Number Thirteen watching him. At least he was watching him – not lost in his own pleasure, not in a hurry even though he must have been more than ready for this – what if he wasn't? What if Number Thirteen wasn't really that turned on, maybe he'd taken a pill or something, Harry had read about those, and he wasn't really that exciting to be with?

Just then Number Thirteen tilted his hips from side to side a bit and pushed in further. He paused, waiting, looking down at Harry, and again that same small half soft smile was back, quirking the corner of the man's lips up. "It's so hard to go slow, Harry," he murmured, and Harry almost came right then from the silkiness of the voice, so obviously filled with wanting and hunger, and all for him. So the man had done this a hundred times before – right now he was with Harry, and it was being with Harry that made him need to go it hard for him to go slowly.

Harry bent his legs further, pushing against Number Thirteen's shoulders to lift his legs for easier access. "So don't," he said, a little astonished at his own audacity. With a low growl, Number Thirteen shoved in more fully – deep and sudden and Harry felt deliciously dirty. Number Thirteen wriggled, and Harry gasped. "Wait–" he said, and the look on Number Thirteen's face changed to an almost mischievous look.

"No," was all he said, and then he took Harry's hands in his own, lacing their fingers and gripping tight. It hurt, and Harry had half a mind to tell him so, even though he was pinned to the bed and getting fucked at the moment, but then Number Thirteen began to move. He slid out and back in long, smooth strokes, filling Harry in a way he'd never been filled before, and rubbing against something inside him that heaped the pleasure up in layers, building and making him jump with every thrust. God, he was close – and no one was even touching him, and he just needed a minute and one hand to fix himself and he'd be good to go, really–

"Wait!" he said again, and tried to pull one of his hands out from Number Thirteen's iron grip. It was no good. How was this man so much stronger than him? Something about struggling was so goddamn exciting, though, especially with the way Number Thirteen was giving him that knowing half smirk. "Just – let me – " He was trying to speak in between the thrusts, but there just wasn't time, and after a moment he couldn't really remember why he'd wanted Number Thirteen to stop, anyway.

Suddenly the pleasure mounted up, spiked too high for him to control, and he remembered why. With a cry, he began to come, and at the very instant Number Thirteen released one of his hands and stroked him off. The touch sent Harry's orgasm spiraling out of control and he jerked and spasmed, sending jets of come across his own belly and Number Thirteen's hand. He kept his eyes open, remember what the man had said, and to his surprise Number Thirteen watched his eyes the entire time, and started to come himself just afterwards. His lips moved, but Harry didn't hear anything – surely that wasn't _his_ name the man was mouthing? With a grunt, Number Thirteen fell onto his elbow, half on Harry, hand still wrapped around him and cock still buried in his arse.

Harry sighed, completely sated and utterly relaxed – all except for the one hand that Number Thirteen was still gripping. He flexed his fingers gently, wondering if the man would release him now, and the hand unclenched and drew away, but slowly. Then Number Thirteen shifted, pulling out and sliding off of Harry, lying just to his side on his side. One arm was still draped across Harry's chest, and Harry risked a glance at the man's face. Eyes shut. Surely he wasn't asleep – just recovering. Harry wondered if he always did this. A pang hit his chest when he realized that whatever Number Thirteen might be to him – possibly the best fuck he'd ever had – he himself was just one more stranger to Number Thirteen, one in a row of ever-changing faces. Probably young faces, probably more attractive than Harry for the most part. That shouldn't have bothered him, just like it shouldn't have bothered him to imagine Number Thirteen doing this with any other boy – or girl – but it did. And not just any girl, he realized, but Hermione, too.

He propped himself up onto his elbows, displacing Number Thirteen's arm down to around his waist, and Number Thirteen opened an eye to peer up at him. Harry wasn't sure if he was still just supposed to do what Number Thirteen told him to, or what, or maybe if that was over now that they'd had sex. What happened now? What was he supposed to do? Should he leave?

"Lie back down," Number Thirteen said, and though his voice was quiet there was no mistaking the edge of command in his tone. Harry again thought of protesting, but then what would be the point of that? He flopped back down onto the pillows and waited.

A few moments went by. Harry tried not to fidget.

Number Thirteen had closed his eyes again. "Can I ask you something?" Harry finally said, unable to stand it any longer.

"No."

Taken aback, Harry's mouth fell open for a second. Then he closed it again and shifted his head on the pillow. Well. That was that, he supposed. Then again, what was the man going to do if he did keep talking? It's not like he could do anything physical again so soon, unless he just tied Harry up or actually hurt him or something, and Harry didn't really think that was the sort of thing Number Thirteen did. It seemed to be all in play – although, he thought, remembering the way Number Thirteen had trapped his hands, just because it was all in play didn't make it any less real, either.

He glanced around the room a bit as he lay there, waiting for what, he wasn't sure. A large mirror appeared to be the closet door, and there was a small chest of drawers in the corner. Basically, the room was furnished simply but with older, high quality furniture. The wallpaper was a charming old Victorian pattern, all diamonds and curlicues, and if the particular shade of purple was a bit odd, at least it was understated.

The strangest thing was the sense of timelessness of the room. Harry wasn't wearing a watch, there was no clock on the wall, and he had literally no idea what time it was or how long he'd been there. And how long had he been lying there looking around? Was Number Thirteen sleeping? Harry didn't think so. He glanced to the man, lying snug against him, eyes closed tight.

His face looked relatively smooth for forty or so, Harry thought. He would have guessed him in mid or young thirties. His mouth was turned downwards and in general the man looked like he was generally had an unpleasant scowl on his face, but he seemed relaxed at the moment. Just a faint downward turn at the corners of his mouth told Harry that he wasn't totally relaxed – wasn't asleep. The hair was falling over his face, and for a second Harry was half tempted to reach a hand up and brush it back, but he was afraid of doing anything that seemed too intimate. He wondered again how long it would be before Number Thirteen kicked him out of bed – would he get to shower before he left? Or would he be expected to just button up and run on home, so to speak?

And why, Harry thought, staring intensely at the face of the man lying in bed next to him, why doesn't he see anyone more than once?

"All right," Number Thirteen said suddenly, his mouth barely opening to get the words out. "Ask your question."

Harry's mind went blank. What had he been going to ask before? It wasn't about why Number Thirteen didn't see anyone more than once, was it? Was he going to ask about the other people Number Thirteen had been with? Or if he preferred blokes to girls? Harry's mind searched for an appropriate question and he couldn't think of anything.

"Why don't you ever see anyone more than once?" Harry blurted. Instantly he wished he could take the words back, but there was no stopping his mouth when it got going sometimes.

Number Thirteen didn't move for a second, and Harry almost hoped against hope that the man hadn't heard him. What an embarrassingly stupid question; he sounded like some kind of desperate, lovesick teenager – well, maybe he hadn't heard.

Then he opened his eyes – both of them. Time for damage control. "Not that there's anything wrong with that," Harry added hurriedly. "I think it's a fine – I mean, you're perfectly within your rights to set up a policy – er, I mean, actually I'm sure it's really a very nice rule, I was just curious... as to..."

Number Thirteen's pushed himself up on one elbow and raised his eyebrows, waiting for Harry to finish.

"Just curious as to your reasoning," Harry finished with as much dignity as he could. "That's all."

"I see." Number Thirteen was staring at him, and even though Harry had been naked for quite some time now he felt even more exposed with those dark eyes staring straight at him. "So it's not because you would want to see me again?

Harry was confused. Did that mean he wasn't going to answer? "Erm..."

"Just in case you were wondering, no, you aren't the first person to ask me that. The very policy seems to engender some sort of... mystique." Number Thirteen pursed his lips – a very slight motion that drew Harry's attention immediately. Number Thirteen didn't seem to notice his attention, though, as he went on. "In fact I rather wish Lupin would stop mentioning it to people. It would serve my purpose just as well if no one knew about it until afterwards. Then he could deal with them and I would never have to answer any questions about it." He shook his head, and Harry blinked. Serve his purpose?

"At any rate," Number Thirteen went on, "I am not going to answer the question. It doesn't matter. For whatever reason, Lupin saw fit to tell you, and that's the end of that."

"Actually," Harry said before he could change his mind, "that rule was the only reason I agreed to try this out in the first place."

Something subtle shifted in Number Thirteen's gaze, and he tilted his head slightly. "Is that so?"

"Uh..." Harry wasn't sure if he was supposed to answer or not. Did that sound bad, if he said yes? Did it make him sound desperate, or too repressed? He wasn't sure and couldn't begin to guess how this man, who was still for all intents and purposes a stranger, would interpret whatever he was going to say, so he gave up and decided to stick with the complete and bare truth. "Yeah. It, uh, takes the pressure off."

A bit of the intensity of Number Thirteen's gaze lessened, then, though Harry couldn't have said why.

"I see," he said again. Harry took the lack of anything more critical to be a good sign. He thought of asking what happened next, but decided not to press his luck.

Number Thirteen lay back against the pillows, settling himself in for what seemed to be a while. "If you're wondering what happens next," he said as he closed his eyes, "the answer is that it's up to you, within the following framework. I am going to sleep. I have the room until tomorrow. You may stay here and sleep, or you may go at your leisure. If you stay, you will be silent. If you go, you may not return. Any questions?"

Harry was a bit taken aback. So, apparently, they were done, and his ideas about the pressure being taken off were all well and good, but he was still plagued by a kind of performance anxiety. If he had lasted longer, would he still be given the same options? Maybe if he had been better at sucking Number Thirteen off, he'd be invited for another round later or something. Maybe if he stayed now, there would be another round. But Harry wasn't tired, and he was beginning to be more uncomfortable in the presence of this man, especially as he couldn't help but wonder about how many others – about all the others that had been given the same option, that had been with this man in a post-coital stupor. If he stayed, could he snuggle? Did he want to? His bravery was beginning to give out – well, if Harry was being honest with himself, it gave out rather a long time ago.

The sex had been good, but he was definitely feeling the awkwardness. Hesitantly, not wanting to disturb Number Thirteen – who he could tell wasn't sleeping anyway – Harry pushed himself to a sitting position. He watched the man's face for some sign, some flicker of approval or disappointment or something, but there was nothing. Maybe if he spoke again, Harry would be able to tell. He swung his legs off the bed and looked felt around for his glasses so that he would be able to find the rest of his clothes.

"Can I ask you something else?"

"No."

Harry sighed with exasperation, but quietly. He couldn't tell anything from one short syllable. He stood up, then, and gathered his clothes. Maybe a quick shower would be a good thing, and maybe he'd be able to tell something when he came back from that.

He was still in a bit of a daze when he showered and got dressed. What did he _want_ from this man? Some kind of sign, some kind of indication, but what was he hoping for? Did he think that an experienced Master like this was going to suddenly change his policy of not seeing anyone more than once and ask him for a second – date, session, whatever this was? And why would he? Harry was nothing special. Nothing to write home about. Nothing to break a longstanding policy of single dates for. Still...

He shook his head and stepped out into the bedroom again. Number Thirteen had pulled a sheet up to his waist and was lying on his side, facing the far wall. There was no hint that he was still awake, but Harry got the impression he wasn't really sleeping yet, either. He stood there, a moment, and then a moment more, wondering. The skin of Number Thirteen's bare back was pale. Harry had an insane urge to go and wrap the man up in his arms, but surely that sort of overture would be rejected. And he wasn't quite as eager to leave as he had been a few moments before. After all... this was his one and only chance.

Maybe he'd call Remus up again, see if there was someone else. After all, everyone else in the world seemed to have survived without multiple sessions with Number Thirteen. Just because Harry was curious about him, didn't mean anything – he was probably just feeling the after-effects of good sex. That was it. He looked down at his shoes for a moment. They hadn't really played much part in the evening after all, and he'd agonized so much about which shoes to wear. Well, it had been a good night, no doubt about it.

He thought about moving towards the door and found himself utterly incapable of leaving without at least saying _something_. The man might be asleep, or he might not be, but Harry had to say it anyway. "Thanks," he said, just loud enough to be heard, and then he fled.

* * *

Time was a funny thing. Harry had left the Leaky Cauldron without seeing what time it was – there were still people there, though perhaps not as many as before, and by the time he made it back to his own flat he still had no clue whether it was even before midnight. Time had a way of getting away from him, but surely it couldn't be that late?

The lights were off when he let himself in to the flat, and Hermione was nowhere to be seen. Probably had her own date, or else went out studying with someone, Harry thought. He dropped his keys on the counter and glanced at the clock on the wall. Just now the stroke of midnight. He didn't think it was possible for five hours to have passed, but obviously they had. He sighed, scrubbed his face with the heel of his palm, and headed to bed. He wasn't sure he'd be able to sleep, but if he was going to toss and turn he'd better do it in his own bed instead of walking around the living room.

* * *

Hermione caught him over a bowl of oatmeal the next morning. "So?" she said.

Harry added more cinnamon to his bowl and shrugged. "What?" But he couldn't help the slight blush from rising in his cheeks, and Hermione had been a friend too long not to notice something like that.

She rolled her eyes at him, true to form. "So how did it go, Harry? Honestly, it's like pulling teeth with you sometimes."

"It was..." Actually, while the sex had been pretty amazing, Harry was left kind of confused about the evening on the whole. Part of him was almost... disappointed. But the experience itself had been great. "Brilliant, I think. I definitely forgot about my school work for a while." He grinned to show that he was none the worse for the night.

Hermione looked pleased for him. "That's very good, then," she said. "What did you think of Number Thirteen?"

I should have asked what to call him, Harry thought. He might have told me that, there, just before I left. "Oh... quite a... I mean, he was... well, words aren't really adequate, I guess."

Hermione smiled. "Yeah, I remember the feeling." An icy knife slipped between Harry's ribs, and it felt so sharp and sudden that he actually glanced down to see if something was stabbing him before he caught himself. _Get a grip, Harry,_ he told himself. Hermione had a sort of dreamy look in her eye, and Harry found himself wondering if she'd stayed the night, when given the option. Don't ask, it was better not to know, it didn't matter anyway, and there was no sense in comparing yourself to someone else, especially when the someone else was Hermione, a friend and not to mention a girl and therefore totally different. Apples and oranges.

"Hermione," he said hesitantly. "Did you... I mean, with Number Thirteen, after you, um, were done, did you stay or go?"

Hermione looked confused. "What do you mean? Stay or go?"

"Well, I mean when it was all over, did you stay the night? When he gave you the choice, I mean?"

Hermione shook her head slowly. "He didn't give me any choice, Harry. After... well, afterwards, he was very nice about it, but he – I mean we both left."

"He left? You saw him leave when you did?"

"Oh... no, he let me have the shower first. A gentleman, if you ask me, or at least he's good at faking it. Then I left and I didn't see him after that. But I assume he left like he said he was going to." Her brows furrowed. "Why? You mean, he gave you a choice about staying or going?"

This was bizarre. Had Harry been given an option no one else had? Or had Number Thirteen just changed his ways since a year ago? Or maybe girls got the boot and boys were allowed to choose? "Uh, kind of, I guess. Yeah."

"And? What did you choose?"

Well, he could hardly refuse to answer after he'd just asked her the same thing. "I, uh, I left. I wasn't tired and it was just too strange to lie there, next to him like that..."

Hermione shook her head. "Well, I can see what you mean. What a strange thing, though. Maybe he liked you."

It was Harry's turn to shake his head. "Nah, I would guess he just didn't feel like getting out of bed and doing anything then. I mean..." Right. End of conversation.

Well, he had the rest of the weekend to work on his history project. It should be good, and actually Harry was looking forward to some time with the books. He liked history, and this promised to be an interesting topic – Myth and Magic from 1300 to Present. And there was nothing like diving into some serious work to get his mind off of those piercing eyes and the feel of silky black hair between his fingers.

* * *

"Three more for you to choose from, Severus." A sheaf of papers hit the desk in front of Severus, covering up the papers he'd been marking. He looked up.

"For God's sake, Lupin, how many times do I have to tell you that your stupid collar is completely visible when you wear that?" Severus pushed the profiles aside and tried to get back to his marking, but Remus Lupin leaned over the desk and planted his fist in the middle of the essay.

"Collars are hip these days. No one knows what it means." Remus smiled. "Or if they do, they've already participated in the service and aren't going to tell anyone."

Severus sighed. Remus was always too bloody confident. "Anyway I haven't got time for anyone else right now." He picked up the profiles Remus had brought, intending to push them back into Remus' hands, but the man danced away.

"Come on. Something's up. You haven't even looked at another sheet since – what, almost a week now? You have some other hot date for Friday night that I don't know about?"

Severus scowled. "Is that so far beyond the realm of possibility?"

Remus rolled his eyes. "I've known you for thirty-two years. Forgive me, I know you hate it when I say this, but I actually do know a few things about you. And one thing I believe quite firmly is that something is up. Now. Are you going to tell me or do I have to send Sirius over to find out what's going on?"

With an exaggerated sigh, Severus swept his essays – still in need of marking – into a folder and put it in a leather satchel. The profiles he kept out, and with an exaggerated blinking of his eyes and clearing of his throat, he looked at them.

Applicant one. A girl, barely out of secondary school, with long hair and nice breasts and a willing, eager attitude. Sirius had written underneath Remus' careful notes: Too pretty for you, Snivellus. Severus scowled at that and tossed the sheet back to Remus. "No," he said, and turned to the next.

Applicant two. Older boy – man, maybe, Severus noted as he saw the age – just divorced after a two year marriage, seeking new experiences. Might be temperamental, Remus had noted. Severus snorted. Remus wouldn't know the meaning of the word temperamental if it bit him in the throat. "Too tall," he said and tossed it to Remus with the other.

"Tall? Now, wait a minute, Severus – "

Severus stifled a yawn and looked at the last one. Applicant three, a nice-looking young man at university, fresh faced and unsure of this whole thing, but he'd been with a bloke before and should have some idea of what he wanted. Still, needed an introduction to the strange dynamic that Moonlight Escapes presented. Hmm... actually, this one was tempting.

Remus was reading over his shoulder. "I thought you might like that one," he said. "Couldn't help but notice you've been lingering a bit more over the black-haired boys these days, and this one has glasses, too–"

"What are you talking about?" Severus threw down the sheet. "Glasses or black hair make absolutely no difference to me, which you would know if you knew me as well as you claimed to just a moment ago."

"Come on." Remus waved the sheets in the air. "You haven't said yes to _any_ of the last ten – or is it twelve? And I don't say that you haven't liked any of them, because I think you have – look at this one–" He was pointing to the third applicant.

"My choices are my own. Drop it."

Remus shook his head. "Something's wrong, and you want me to drop it? I don't think so."

Severus sighed, this time a real, genuine sigh and he knew that Remus could tell the difference. "It's not wrong. There isn't anything 'wrong'... I just feel like spending a little bit more time by myself."

"A little bit more? You went from approving three out of every four to absolutely none. That's not a little more time to yourself, it's _all_ the time to yourself. It's just not like you."

Abruptly, Severus got to his feet and collected his bag. "I'll thank you to mind your own business."

"Severus."

He kept walking and was halfway to the door before he paused. Maybe Lupin could help him, or give him advice, if he could just phrase it properly so he didn't give anything away. Lupin would tell Black and Severus did not want any sign of weakness reaching Black's ears. He turned back to the other man, who was still standing by his desk at the front of the classroom.

"Let me ask you one question, Lupin. What do you think of my rule?"

"You mean never seeing the same person twice?" Severus nodded, and Remus smiled. "I think it's an excellent way for you to make sure you keep your distance, and make sure that it's always just about sex. The physical, and the mental stimulation from the control you have, but never about the emotional."

Severus' face froze in a cold haughty expression. "Is that so?" He turned and stalked towards the door. Either he wasn't as good at this anymore as he'd used to be, or maybe Remus really did know him. A little.

* * *

He had dinner alone in his rooms that night, but for once, it was unpleasant to be by himself. He had far too much to reflect on and far too little to look forward to. The truth was he could barely remember why he'd made that rule in the first place, but sticking to it had given him the one thing about the process he felt he could count on.

Which wasn't accurate, of course. He had complete carte blanche over the selection process, the screening, and the time and location of the "dates" themselves. He'd told Harry he didn't really want Remus telling applicants about his rule any more, but he'd never mentioned that to Remus. It had seemed like a good idea – oh, ten years ago or whenever it was they'd roped Severus into their dating service. Trying it just once had led to "just once" for any one applicant, and since he had complete control over everything from his end that had been easy enough to implement.

But last Friday...

He gazed out the window, and let himself remember. He'd never had such a response from a lover before – and it wasn't just Harry's physical response that had been so appealing. When he'd searched Harry's eyes, there had been a sort of... resonance, almost as if Harry could answer his silent questions. To see that, and to feel that kind of connection while making love was a completely new experience for Severus. And he wanted it again. He didn't know much about Harry and hadn't asked Remus how he'd got the number for Moonlight Escapes, but he supposed it didn't matter. Remus would have his contact number, and the thought that Remus could just pick up a telephone and actually call the boy at any moment he chose was somewhat maddening. Severus could have done it too, but he would have had to go ask Remus for the boy's number.

And anyway he _wasn't_ going to do such a thing because he had a rule, and in nine and a half years he'd broken that rule exactly once and he had more than paid for his trouble. It wasn't a mindless rule that had never been tested – he'd learned the hard way just what a good rule it was, and that the first session should always be the last session.

In any case, the sooner he could put Harry out of his mind the better. He really should just say yes to all three of the latest, and expunge any memories that way. After enough attractive lovers passed through his bed, he would hardly remember those flashing green eyes or the way Harry had thought about resisting and chose – decided to – go along with what Severus said to do. Yes, and the sooner he could be rid of those images in his dreams, the better. But the very idea of saying yes, of setting up another meeting and another date with someone that wasn't Harry – it seemed an impossible thing to do. How could he?

How could he not? he thought sternly. He couldn't continue living like this. There was just one thing to do, and that was to – somehow – get Lupin on his side. He'd have to either find out how the boy knew them and get his contact info that way, or else worm it out of Lupin directly, somehow without giving him anything he might take to Black even as an idle curiosity. He had the advantage of his profession, at least – Lupin and Severus worked together, and Sirius Black did not. Apparently the thought of a Black working for a living had given his mother fits, or something equally ridiculous. It didn't matter. The point was that Severus had the opportunity to talk to Remus – alone – on a regular basis, and if he started now he might be able to hatch a plan and arrange to talk to Harry again sometime within the next week.

His mind was made up, he realized with a start. He really did want to. Of course, the question of whether or not Harry would want to talk to him, much less see him again, was a completely different subject. Severus couldn't forget what the boy had said – his rule had actually been an inducement. The boy wasn't looking for anything regular: he had wanted something casual and been specifically looking for a one-off. The thought of trying or having to try to change the boy's mind was more than just daunting; it made Severus feel faintly ill, but he could at least try. He wasn't getting any younger, and if the boy turned him down, Severus would just have to make sure he would forget the whole thing ever happened.

* * *

For the next few days, Harry's life seemed almost back to normal. He didn't go on thinking about Number Thirteen – he got straight to work and did his lessons and homework and reading and studying, and he did his hours in the library with a better attitude than he'd had in months. Hermione seemed friendly and cheerful, although he suspected that was more a reflection of his own attitude than anything. And his classes were looking up. He actually thought he'd be able to get his project done by its deadline, and his advisor was in high spirits about it.

He'd been acting so jovial and friendly with everyone he talked to, but it still surprised him when, Thursday afternoon after the History Department's weekly social for graduate students, one of the other students came up to him as he was heading down the stairs.

"Harry!" the boy called out, catching him by the sleeve. He dropped it immediately and looked slightly embarrassed.

"Oh... hi. Oliver, isn't it?" Harry was in a good mood still, and he couldn't help but smiling at the young man – a couple of years older than himself, he thought. "What's up?"

"I was just wondering if you were busy tomorrow night." Oliver glanced away and then back to Harry, looking a bit unsure. He ran a hand through his hair and Harry smiled even more.

"I'm..." He wasn't busy at all, and he hadn't had a proper date – visions of intense black eyes and lean thighs notwithstanding – the whole term. But somehow, although Oliver seemed like a perfectly nice young man, and someone that Harry might have wanted to get to know better once upon a time, the thought of actually going for a drink or something with him was not appealing. Not as a date. Still, he didn't want to put the boy off completely.

"Tomorrow night's not good," Harry said. "But, hey, why don't you check with me next week? I have a project due on Monday, but next week..." He let his voice trail off.

Oliver nodded, smiling. "Yeah, all right. Maybe next week." He turned and moved off.

It occurred to Harry that Number Thirteen wouldn't have let him just trail off – he had insisted that Harry finish his sentences. He missed that.

The next evening Harry was beginning to wish that he'd said yes. Hermione was going out, and he had absolutely nothing to do, and it was Friday and it was six o'clock and he wondered if Number Thirteen was meeting someone else tonight, there at the Leaky Cauldron. Did the man always get room number thirteen to match his code number? He could have asked Hermione, but Harry found himself reluctant to meet to discuss the man with her any more than he already had.

He found himself digging out a clean jumper and the jeans that one boy he'd dated had called flattering, and he wondered what the hell he was doing. Going out. Surely he wasn't going to go to the Leaky Cauldron?

As soon as one part of his brain admitted that he'd even thought of the possibility, it began to seem inevitable. Well, why shouldn't he? It's not like he was thinking he'd see Number Thirteen again, not really. Certainly not. Actually, he thought it was possible he could station himself near the barman, and if some young person came along and asked for a room key he could hear if Tom gave him the key to room number thirteen, and then he would know.

He should have stayed the night, he thought. He could have had hours more with his body pressed against Number Thirteen's, even if they didn't do anything physical for the rest of the night. And anyway, maybe if he had stayed then something else _would_ have happened. He wouldn't know, and there was no way to go back and change it. Why had he left? Had he had such a difficult time with the awkwardness? Would it have killed him to swallow his pride and enjoyed a little physical attention from someone who knew something about it?

He laced his trainers and surveyed the flat. Two bedrooms, a sitting room and a kitchen. He'd been sharing it with Hermione for two years now, and it had never felt like home. But then, he thought as he trailed his hand along the wall, he had never really felt at home anywhere in his life. A moment later, he was headed for the door, and he was going out, and he was going to the Leaky Cauldron.

* * *

The Leaky Cauldron was just as bustling this week as it had been the previous one. Harry took a table close to the bar, looking around at the faces and wondering if any of these were prior customers of Number Thirteen as well. Perhaps the boy from the week before had sat here as Harry came in and went to the bar?

The crowd took no more notice of him this week than they had before, though it might have been that they were all just better at hiding it. Or maybe, if they were all part of some strange kind of Scene, maybe they just really didn't care.

He nursed a pint for a few minutes and gradually began to relax. He was out and having a good time and it didn't really matter about the whole Number Thirteen thing. Sure. Hey, in fact, there were even a couple of good looking blokes, and sitting here he had a good view of the bar and of them and it wasn't strange to be out by yourself, after all. This was London. He was reasonably attractive, and there was no reason he shouldn't go out on his own, maybe even meet a few people.

A young man came in just then, and Harry noticed immediately how out of place he looked. He was on the short side, with dark hair cropped short against his head, and glasses. Harry did a double take. The boy was looking around, and making his way to the bar, when suddenly Harry's view of him was cut off by a young woman, standing at his table.

He tried to look around her but she ducked to stay in his view. "Hi," she said, and Harry looked at her directly. She was conventionally attractive, he guessed, though there was a slight upturn of the nose that he didn't really go for. Then again, he didn't really go for girls at all.

The boy was almost the bar, and Harry didn't want to be rude, but... "Hi," he said. "Look, I'm terribly sorry, would you mind standing just–"

The girl looked over her shoulder, and Harry had a clear view for a second of the young man at the bar counter waving at the barman. Then she turned back and looked at Harry as if seeing him for the first time. "You're... ah. Never mind, I think I understand." She smirked and then, mercifully, stepped away. Harry made a mental note to buy her a drink later.

He'd missed what the young man said to the barman, but Harry had a perfect view of the barman leaning down to pick up that little book. He brought it to the counter, and Harry forced his eyes away. Someone would notice him staring, for one thing, and for another he needed to hear what was said more than what he could see. Of course, he wouldn't know anything if the room wasn't room thirteen, because what if Number Thirteen used different rooms each week? He'd never know.

"Upstairs, room four." There was a slight jingle and Harry flicked his eyes over to the bar just in time to see the young man put something in his pocket and turn away.

Great. Room four. Maybe it was Number Thirteen in a different room, or maybe it was someone else altogether, and Harry had no way of telling. He finished his pint and stared into the empty glass, wondering what he was going to do now. Why had he come? He'd known there was no chance of him spotting Number Thirteen, obviously. He could either sit here and wonder about it, or go home and wonder about it, or try to find someone to get his mind off it and stop wondering about.

None of those options sounded terribly appealing. With a sigh, he stood up to go pay his tab. He paid for a drink for the girl, too – luckily the barman knew who he meant.

That done, he collected his change and started for the door.

Suddenly a few people knocked into him, giggling and apologizing, and he smiled but realized he'd been knocked a few steps toward the staircase. Before he could change his mind, before anyone else could notice him, he was up the stairs and around the bend in the stairs and out of sight.

The hallway was just as dim as he remembered it, and there was no one in sight. His heart pounded in his chest as he made his way down the corridor. Out of curiosity, he paused outside door number four, but there were no sounds or any indications that anyone was there, Number Thirteen or otherwise.

A few steps further and he would be at the door to room thirteen. Really, he should just turn around and go back downstairs. There was really no point in this; he wouldn't be able to hear anything and he didn't want to hear it if he could. Would Number Thirteen be calling someone else by name in that low, honeyed voice of his? What would Harry do if he were? Nothing, obviously.

Then he was in front of room thirteen. He looked at the door, remembering how last week at this time he'd been expected, and had almost turned around to go home before even knocking. The man had answered his knock so quickly though – it had almost been like he had known that Harry was there and had just been waiting for the knock to yank the door open. What if he knocked now? Would the same man be behind the door, waiting for him? Did he just need to knock to get into that world again?

More likely, he reasoned, even if Number Thirteen were by some miracle here _without_ another partner, even if he were here alone, he would be most displeased to see Harry again. Assuming he opened the door, that was. Okay, so now the string of things that Harry needed to be true for this to be a good idea was even longer: first of all, he needed Number Thirteen to not have another date for the night; and secondly, he needed the dateless Number Thirteen to be here, the only place Harry knew to find him; third, he would have to open the door to Harry's knock; and lastly, he would have to be willing to at least talk to Harry and not throw him out on his ear.

Well, what was the worst that could happen? Harry knocked.

His first knock almost missed the door, with a resulting knock that was so quiet there was no way anyone heard it. He knocked again, too quickly, and cringed. Nothing for it now but to wait and see if anyone answered. Of course, he realized, someone else entirely might answer, and then all he would have to do is say "sorry, wrong door" and make his escape. It wouldn't be the most embarrassing thing he'd ever done.

Still, he was sweating out the wait. If it _was_ Number Thirteen, what would he say?

"Who's there?" a muffled voice came. Harry didn't recognize it at first, but he was certain that it was _not_ Number Thirteen. Still, he couldn't get away without at least giving his name now, could he? It would be dumb to say "sorry, wrong door" to someone who asked who he was, without even seeing him.

"Er. Harry," he said, and chewed on his lip.

The door opened a crack, and for a moment Harry's heart stopped: he saw an intense gaze, long black hair hanging over the man's shoulders – but wait, no, the eyes were lighter, the man was too tall. The door opened further, and then Harry recognized the man.

Sirius Black.

The man appeared just as surprised as Harry was. "Harry," Mr. Black said, pushing the door all the way open. "What are you doing here?"

Good question. "Um..." A sudden thought occurred to him. Was Mr. Black here with Number Thirteen? His eyes widened as he took in the man's appearance – dressed attractively, in fine soft clothes – a damned sexy shirt with wide sleeves – and that same dog collar fastened tight around his neck. He wasn't wearing shoes – just as Number Thirteen hadn't been when Harry had shown up last week – and there was no doubt that he looked like a man expecting a date – or at least, the end of a date, back at his place. Or rather, at a hotel.

Mr. Black leaned his head out the door and looked up and down the corridor. Harry took the opportunity to peer into the rooms behind him, but he didn't see any sign of Number Thirteen. Mr. Black glanced back at him and said, "I tell you what, come inside and sit down for a moment. We can't stand around out here chatting all night."

Meekly, Harry followed him in. There was a small couch in the sitting area part of the room. Harry tried not to remember as he looked around exactly what had transpired in this exact space just seven days earlier. Mr. Black pointed at the couch, and Harry sat.

The older, taller man stood looking at him for a moment, and Harry couldn't help but notice just how attractive Mr. Black was, for an older guy. And as he well knew, older men could bring a lot to the table in terms of experience. Now there was an interesting thought.

But he could read Mr. Black's expression, and while there was some kind of excitement there, it was muted, as if Harry had interrupted. And no small amount of impatience, either. Harry realized he still hadn't answered the man's question.

"Sorry," he said. "I was..." Hell, he might as well go for the truth here as well. "I was actually looking for... well, I mean, this is going to sound silly but I thought on the off chance that he was here, that I might see him – I mean, just to talk to him, I don't really think he'd want anything to do with me, but I kept thinking about him and I wasn't sure if – "

Mr. Black held up his hand, and Harry stopped.

"Who are you talking about, Harry?" He seemed curious, but a trace of impatience ran through his voice.

"Number Thirteen."

"Number – oh." A small frown came over Mr. Black's face. "You met with him last week, then?"

Harry nodded.

Mr. Black glanced at the door, and then his watch, and then turned his attention back to Harry. He sighed. "You want to see him again?"

Harry nodded. He didn't mind admitting it to this man, who might actually be able to help him. If he wanted to. Mr. Black was a hard one to figure out.

"Just one little problem of course. He doesn't see anyone twice."

"I know," Harry said. Well, so much for that idea. He started to push himself to his feet.

"Sit _down_ , Harry. Now, I don't know that much about – about your Number Thirteen, but in my opinion, if you just wait another week or see someone else from Remus' list, you will forget all about him. In fact, I strongly recommend you do that." Mr. Black tapped his foot and gazed down at him. "Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir."

There was a knock on the door, and Harry's heart jumped up his throat and swallowed his tongue. Was it him? Was Number Thirteen coming to play supplicant to Mr. Black? His eyes widened at the very thought. Surely not. He couldn't imagine these two getting along at all.

"Wait here," Mr. Black said, and disappeared. Harry could hear the door open, a low murmur, and then Mr. Black returned with Remus Lupin in tow.

Oh, God.

He had definitely interrupted. These two – these two? Of course, these two. He had seen it in their faces the day they'd come over to his and Hermione's flat. Remus was wearing simple but very flattering clothes, and Harry just hoped he wouldn't say anything in too sexy a voice – he was already feeling rather agitated from the location, the memories, and those sexy sleeves Mr. Black was waving around.

"Hello, Harry."

Harry decided he needed to flee, and the quicker the better. "Sorry I – I mean, I didn't mean to interrupt, I'll just be on my way." He stood up, and Mr. Black waved Remus to the couch in his place.

"It's all right, Harry." Remus glanced at Mr. Black as he took a seat on the sofa, but Mr. Black was standing off to one side, completely silent. Once again Harry wondered at the strange dynamic between these two.

Harry looked between the two men for another moment, wondering if Mr. Black was going to tell Remus what was going on. Apparently not. Apparently it was up to him.

"Sorry," he said again, and Remus looked at him. "I was just... um... well, this is where, I mean, last week I came here, and – Oh, God, that's not what I mean – "

Remus looked almost amused. "Hang on, Harry, calm down. It's all right." He flicked another glance at Mr. Black and an odd look passed over his face, one that Harry couldn't read. "I know where you met, ah, Number Thirteen last week. Tonight we have the room for a different purpose."

Harry thought he understood. "I know, I'm sorry, I just, um, I keep thinking about him and I was wondering if you could tell me why he doesn't see anyone more than once." There. That was actually a good question, and one that Remus might be able to answer, instead of something like "can you tell him I said hi" or something else equally childish.

Remus didn't glance at Mr. Black this time. He kept his gaze fixed on Harry. "I'm sorry, Harry, I can't tell you that."

"What? Why – I mean..." Harry trailed off, remembering again how Number Thirteen would have made him finish the thought, with nothing more than a raised eyebrow. In contrast to Oliver, in contrast to Mr. Black even, who had cut him off, earlier. "Okay," he said then. "Well... I'll just be going."

Remus gave him an apologetic smile. "I really am sorry, Harry. Perhaps you'd like to try someone else from the service? I could bring the book over this weekend if you like."

"Uh..." No, thought Harry. I don't want to see anyone if it's not him. But then, it didn't look like he would ever be given the chance to see Number Thirteen again. Was it really just a one time thing? And why did he have such a problem accepting a one night stand sort of scenario? Had he actually thought that Number Thirteen wanted to see _him_ as well? Not really. As usual, Harry was only thinking selfishly, and he knew it. The man doesn't want to see me again, and that is that. He considered telling Remus that if Number Thirteen asked, then Remus could give out his number, or something, but that would just sound silly. He considered asking Remus what the man's real name was, since obviously both Remus and Mr. Black knew it, but that was probably something else he had no business asking.

Remus was still waiting for an answer to his question.

"Okay, sure. That'd be fine." Harry tried to look pleased by the idea and was sure he was failing miserably. He glanced once towards the bedroom. "Uh... right then. I'll just be on my way." With another sigh, he turned and left, ducking his head apologetically to Mr. Black as he passed, who watched him go in contemplative silence before turning back to Remus.

Just before the door closed, Harry heard Mr. Black saying, "Doesn't he remind you of someone?" but he promptly forgot it in his hurry to escape.

* * *

Severus took a walk around the lake every Saturday morning, rain or shine. Of course, usually he had a much more pleasant memory of a Friday evening to go over in his head as he walked. Normally, Fridays were for pleasure, and Saturday mornings were for remembering the pleasure, and putting it away in his mind to be saved, stored, and accessed at will. But this morning he had no such memory of the night before.

Instead, he was busy remembering the previous Friday – and a young man named Harry. The green eyes still haunted his dreams, and more than anything Severus wished he knew why Harry had left instead of staying.

Obvious, isn't it? He didn't want anything to do with you. He was in it for the sex and the sex only. He said as much very clearly when he said that your "one time only" rule was the reason he'd agreed. Sex only. And that's the way you prefer it as well, isn't it? You never wanted to get _involved_ with anyone before.

'Get involved.' The very phrase was ridiculous. The wind was nipping up and dried leaves crunched underneath his boots as he stomped around the lake pathway, never slowing his steps.

He shouldn't have come out here. If he wasn't going to follow his normal Friday night routine, then he shouldn't have bothered to try to follow his normal Saturday morning routine.

Last week wouldn't have been the normal routine either, if Harry had stayed.

But Harry hadn't stayed. Severus never regretted offering someone a choice as much as he had regretted those words when Harry walked out of the door. But something had made him do it – some strange effect of an interesting boy, of the connection he'd felt between the two of them, and apparently Harry hadn't felt it. Or didn't know what to do with it. Or maybe Harry felt that way with everyone, which was why he'd been hoping to have a "sex only" no strings attached sort of fling. Bah.

Severus came around a corner in the path and stopped short.

A figure not ten yards away was kneeling down in the dried leaves, examining some sort of bush. The coat was old if well-cared for, and Severus didn't need to see his face to know who it was. There was only one person who ever bothered him on his weekly private walks at the lake.

"Ah, there you are, Severus. Bit late this morning, aren't we?"

"'We' are not late for anything, Lupin." Severus had difficulty working up the necessary level of venom. He really did not want to talk to Lupin, but things were already off balance today. He sighed and continued on his path, knowing Lupin would fall in and not bothering to tell him not to do so.

Lupin fell in beside him. "How does this morning find you?"

The sun was bright, and it was only a bit chilly, but Severus was well aware that Lupin's pleasant voice would have been just as pleasant if it were twenty below and sleeting. He ignored the question.

"Had an interesting visitor last night at the Leaky Cauldron," Lupin continued after a moment.

Some days Severus longed for a return to the days when torture meant having your fingernails pulled out instead of listening to the sexual anecdotes of colleagues. "I do _not_ want to hear about you and Black–"

"Not Sirius – I was referring to a certain young man named Harry."

Severus almost missed a step, but he recovered, and hoped Lupin hadn't noticed. So Harry had visited Lupin at the Leaky Cauldron last night. What was he supposed to infer from that? He decided to strive for a casual tone of voice and get more information. "Oh?" he asked, as disinterestedly as he could.

"Indeed." Lupin's voice had just a touch too much satisfaction in it, and Severus waited for the explanation.

They walked on in silence for another few moments, and Severus gritted his teeth. The man was going to make him ask? Never. But without asking, he had no way of knowing what the purpose of the visit was, or if – God _damn_ them _all_ – if the boy had joined in with him and Black and–

No, surely Black would not allow anything like that. Severus had never met a man more possessive of his lover. But why else had Lupin's voice taken on that edge of smugness?

"Well?" he snapped at last.

Lupin had the gall to look surprised. "Well, what, Severus?"

"Well, what did he want?"

"You know, I'm really not sure," Lupin mused. Severus thought about hexing him, and this made him feel marginally better. "He showed up at the Leaky – actually, he was in room thirteen talking to Sirius when I got there."

Two things were good about that statement. Severus was trying to process and make sense of what Lupin was telling him – and perhaps more importantly, _why_ Lupin was telling him – but for now the two things stood out. First of all, that the boy had come to room thirteen, and secondly, that Sirius and the boy had been talking. So he could just wipe that little vision of a threesome out of his head.

The vision of Harry in his mind returned instead to the one from the prior week, the way the boy had moved underneath him and moaned. Still disturbing, but for different reasons, and he much preferred it to seeing Harry in bed with either Black _or_ Lupin, God forbid both of them at the same time.

"He–" Severus had started the question before he could stop himself, but now he may as well ask. "He came to room thirteen?"

"Apparently." Lupin glanced at him sidelong. "I think perhaps he was... well, no."

Silence dragged out again between them, and Severus started measuring the distance to the school. This was not a conversation to be held where students might overhear, and in his mind he cursed Lupin thoroughly for making him ask, _again_.

"You think what, Lupin?"

"He asked if I would tell him why you didn't see anyone more than just one time."

Severus did stop walking at that. What was that supposed to mean? The boy asking him... about his rule? And what on earth had Lupin said? He didn't put it past the man to actually tell the boy what he'd said to Severus just the other day, about protecting himself and all that rubbish. _Merlin's beard._

"And what did you _say_?" He knew he sounded irritated, but honestly, Lupin deserved it at this point.

The other man had stopped as well, and turned to face Severus. An odd half smile formed on his lips, and he replied, "I told him I couldn't tell him."

Relief ran through Severus, closely followed by puzzlement. Why had the boy wanted to know? What could he think the reasons were? Surely he was intelligent enough to guess at a few things, and he already knew that Severus did not have some sort of disfigurement that limited the sessions to one per person because of embarrassment or anything like that. He tried to put himself in Harry's shoes, to see what the boy would come up with on his own, but the only thing he could think of was that anyone who refused to see someone more than once, just didn't like that particular person. So Harry probably thought he just didn't like _anyone_ , and knew beforehand that he wouldn't like anyone, and made the rule because he was some kind of anti-social crotchety old bat.

Not too far from the truth, that. Perhaps it was just as well. With a final scowl at Lupin, Severus began his trek back up to the school.

"Severus?" Lupin caught up within a few steps. "Don't you have anything to say?"

"And what am I supposed to say? For your information, he told me in no uncertain terms that my little 'rule' was one of the reasons he agreed to the whole thing in the first place." A sidelong glare. "You were there. Is that so?"

Lupin appeared to falter, which was immensely gratifying. "I – well, he did say that–"

"So what am I supposed to think when you show up here telling me this rubbish about Harry coming to visit you and Black at the Leaky Cauldron?"

"No, it wasn't like that – he wasn't visiting _us_ , Severus, he–"

"No? What then? Tell me." Severus kept his eyes fixed ahead of him.

"He was looking for _you._ "

Severus snorted. "And yet he ended up with you and Black."

"Look – okay, forget about Harry."

Impossible, Severus thought, but he said nothing.

"Perhaps you'd like to... reconsider your rule? Take a look at some applicants who interested in a longer-term relationship, maybe try them a few times. You still have absolute control over who you take, how many times, all of that. It would still be entirely up to you."

Severus thought about it. Did he want to see the same face more than once? Yes, if it was Harry's. Look, he told himself sternly. Harry isn't the only one out there. You could find someone else, some other connection just as easily, and have the same thing over and over again.

He wasn't sure if he believed himself. That sort of connection was rare, and he'd been doing this for a long time without ever finding someone he _wanted_ to see again. But maybe that was because he'd only been taking the ones who knew it would be a one time only thing, a voice said inside his head.

"I'll think about it," he said to Lupin. Lupin seemed to take that for a 'yes,' and looked extremely pleased with himself. Which just made Severus more cross.

* * *

It was Sunday afternoon when Hermione answered the telephone and gave Harry a Look. "That was Remus," she said. "He's coming over in just a few minutes it it's all right."

Harry nodded absent-mindedly. He was only half concentrating on the Spanish Inquisition he was supposed to be reading about. Last weekend he'd gotten all kinds of work done, but this weekend all he could think about was his trip to the Leaky Cauldron. And not the fun trip, either. The strange one that ended in the presence of Remus and Mr. Black. Oh, there was a thought. "Is Mr. Black coming too?"

"He didn't say." Hermione took her seat on the opposite sofa, curling her toes up underneath tucking her feet underneath her body. "Harry..."

He did not need a lecture. "Yes, Hermione?"

"Are you all right? You've been kind of mopey the last few days."

Harry reminded himself that Hermione cared about him, or else she wouldn't ask these sorts of things. And he needed _someone_ in his life who cared about him long-term, didn't he?

"It's just... well, Remus is coming over to set me up with someone else."

Hermione nodded, waiting for him to go on.

"I... I just don't know if I want someone else." Instinctively, Harry covered his tracks. "I mean, someone else for just one time. I envy you, sometimes, you with your long-term relationship. I think it would be nice to have something that was more than just sex."

Hermione smiled. "Well, predictability has its benefits, but it's still just a physical relationship, and not exclusive, either. It's great for relieving some of my stress and tension, but meanwhile I _am_ looking for someone else, someone to date. I still want to get married someday, you know."

Harry nodded. He hadn't thought about it, actually.

"Anyway, if you want to see the same person more than once, that's not something to mope about!" She was grinning now. "Remus can set you up – just tell him exactly what you're looking for."

Great, Harry thought. Now if he could just figure out what that was, since Number Thirteen wasn't an option.

There was a knock at the door, and Harry went to answer it. "Hullo, Remus," he said, noting that the man was alone this time. He waved Remus into the sitting room.

Hermione got up to give the older man a quick hug, and then Remus set his binder on the coffee table just like last time. It was a strange sort of déjà vu, and Harry found himself wishing that he was back there again, because it would mean he still had another date with Number Thirteen to look forward to.

"So, Harry," Remus said. "I won't ask anything about the last partner you had, though you're more than welcome to tell me anything you think would be helpful in choosing someone else." He smiled kindly and began to turn the pages of the book.

Right. Someone else. Someone who wasn't Number Thirteen. "Oh, um... it was actually pretty good," he said, trying for a casual attitude. "It would be nice if there was someone... kind of like that but that was interested in the possibility of seeing me more than once... you know, repeat business." His face burned.

"I know what you mean," Remus said. "I think I have just the one for you here. I could look for another, but really I think this is a very good choice for you. He's a lot like your Number Thirteen, but he is interested in a longer term scenario – or at least the possibility of more than one. Of course, the first few times would be like a trial run – you're not signing up for anything you can't get out of – and it would be completely up to you whether or not to continue."

Harry swallowed. It sounded too good to be true, but there was the issue of performance again. He would be evaluated even as he evaluated the other person. But then, he thought, wasn't that really just like life? Two people get together, they both have to see if they like each other to see if they want things to continue. He would just be himself, and if what he himself was wasn't a good fit then the other person would say so and they could part amicably.

"Sounds good," he said around a dry throat. Why not? He could try it and just see what happened, after all.

"Excellent," Remus beamed. "I'll set it up for this Friday, unless that's a conflict for you?"

Harry shook his head. "No, Friday would be good."

* * *

Severus was of two minds the following Friday as he prepared for the evening. Remus had put him back in Room Thirteen, his usual, which was nice though he wasn't sure how he felt about it. Remus and Black booked several rooms every Friday night for their Moonlight Escapes nonsense, and on the rare occasion when Severus wasn't available they'd always kept Room Thirteen to themselves. Which meant that no one had been here that was like this before.

It was always strange to think about what might be going on in the other rooms at the Leaky Cauldron, but Severus tried to push those thoughts out of his mind. He'd never met any of the other Masters that participated in the service – not counting Black, of course – and he didn't really care to. Not that he saw them as competition, just that there could be no benefit in it, so why bother?

Remus had found him a suitable applicant in a remarkably short time, given that he'd only just agreed to look at applicants for the possibility of a long term relationship. It made Severus slightly suspicious, but he'd been rather taken with the description of the boy.

"I know you liked Harry," Lupin had said, and Severus had started to protest only to be cut off. "With that in mind, I have someone I think you'll like... just as much. Maybe even more, I don't know. Give him a try." There hadn't been a picture, but Remus had promised he wouldn't be disappointed. There were a few instances in the past of applicants not having pictures, but Remus was a fairly good judge of what he would and wouldn't like, after so many years of setting him up with people, so he trusted Remus on this one.

And it _was_ nice to be back in his own room – he did tend to think of it as his. Perhaps he had a tendency toward possessiveness after all.

The knock came at precisely seven o'clock. Severus went to the door, settling his face into the calm mask he had used so many nights before, and opened it, stepping to one side and motioning the boy to come in.

It was dim in the hall, and he only caught a bit of reflected light from the boy's glasses before he shut the door and turned to take a closer look at his prospective partner.

Harry.

It was Harry, the same face and eyes and skin he'd been dreaming about for _two bloody weeks_ , now here in the flesh. Harry had a stunned look on his face, his lips parted slightly either in surprise or anticipation - could it be he was looking forward to this, that he'd arranged to get Lupin to–

No. This was not what Severus had signed up for. This was not what he'd expected and he was fairly sure someone had lied to him or at least misrepresented the truth along the way, and the boy was just _looking_ at him–

He tried to keep the snarl out of his voice, but a Severus Snape who is thrown off balance is not a friendly Severus Snape. "What do you think you're doing here?" He tried not to clench his teeth and probably failed.

The boy went pale. Apparently he hadn't been very successful in keeping his voice calm.

"I..."

"Well?" Severus snapped. The boy would finish a sentence if it killed the both of them.

"I'm supposed to be meeting someone – there must be some kind of mix-up – I mean, a mistake, Remus said there was someone, and then the barman gave me the room number but you're here and you're not supposed to be here because you never see anyone more than once." Slightly out of breath, Harry looked up at him almost wonderingly. "Right?"

Impertinent. " _I'm_ not supposed to be here? On the contrary, I am in exactly the right place." Severus needed to reassert control over the situation, and the sooner the better. "Let me make one thing perfectly clear. You may not ask me for explanations or clarifications unless I specifically invite you to do so." He took a few steps across the room. He thought best while walking, and right now he needed to think.

Harry started to take a step – towards him, he thought, though he couldn't be sure and he could not, for his own sanity, afford to find out. "Stop," Severus ordered, and pointed at the wall. "Stand over there. Do not speak."

"Now just a minute–"

Severus whirled. If the boy wasn't going to do as he was told, then there was no way they could stand here and have a conversation about it, much less allow him to think and figure out exactly what had gone wrong.

Gone wrong? a voice said in his mind. You have Harry again, and he's come here for sex, and you can keep him the whole night. What's gone wrong with that?

Because, he answered himself harshly, he's not here for _me_. He was tricked as much as I was and I'm not about to force myself on someone who was obviously expecting someone else!

He forced his face to remain calm. Harry had stopped talking when he'd whirled, but the boy hadn't moved as ordered, either. _Unacceptable._

"Go," Severus said, and gestured toward the door.

Harry blinked. His eyes flickered, and Severus would have called it panic on anyone else's face, but something was different about Harry.

"Go, I said." His voice was harsher this time, and he realized with growing dismay that he was very quickly losing control, not just of the situation but of himself. In another few minutes he'd be throwing things or worse, and he wanted Harry out of the room long before he reached that point. He clenched his hands into fists and did his best to stare Harry down.

Almost automatically, Harry took a step toward the door, but then he paused. "But..." He seemed to be doing some quick thinking, and Severus let a bit of natural curiosity sweep over his anger and humiliation for a moment. He could always lose control after the boy left. He raised his eyebrows at the boy.

"But..." Harry said again, and then took a breath. "Why do you want me to go?"

Severus thought for a moment, trying to decide if the question violated the "no asking him to explain himself" rule he had set down not two minutes ago. It was borderline, and anyway Harry was starting to look rather miserable there. He wanted something, and Severus wasn't sure what it was, much less whether or not he was capable of giving it to him.

Severus composed himself. When he spoke, his voice was back to his normal timbre, without any trace – so he told himself – of agitation. "It's very simple. Regardless of what you were expecting when you came here tonight, regardless of what you were told, and regardless of what _I_ was told... I refuse to have anything further to do with you if you cannot follow a simple instruction. Now, get _out_ of here. And don't come back."

Harry took another step towards the door as if by reflex, then hesitated. He looked at Severus with an almost beseeching look on his face, and then went the rest of the way to the door. The click of the door opening and then closing again echoed in Severus' ears, filling up the emptiness of the silent, dark room.

* * *

Harry had to blink rapidly as he made his way down the stairs and through the crowd at the Leaky Cauldron. He'd really messed things up this time. Somehow, he'd been given another chance and he'd been so stupid or eager or insistent or surprised that somehow, he'd messed it up entirely. He stepped out into the chill London air onto the London street and leaned against the building, breathing heavily.

The worst part was that now, right now, this very second, he knew exactly where Number Thirteen was, and what the man had been preparing for the night. Number Thirteen was ready for sex, and he'd been going to have it with Harry – again – and oh, how his body liked the idea of that! But now Number Thirteen was alone, and Harry knew it, and _how_ could the man throw him out like that? They should have sat down and laughed about it, they should have written off the whole thing as a silly ploy from one Remus Lupin – and then gone ahead and made love anyway, because they wanted to – and Harry did want to, and he believed Number Thirteen had wanted to, too.

He _had_ believed that Number Thirteen was just as interested in him as he was in him. But how quickly the man had got rid of him once they both had been revealed! The only possible explanation was that Remus had got it wrong: yes, they both were interested in repeat sessions, but Harry was interested in repeat sessions with Number Thirteen whereas Number Thirteen wanted someone else.

A passing couple of girls bumped against him, and the girl nearest him giggled. "Oops, sorry mate," she said, and traded a glance with her companion.

The companion, Harry noticed, was the pug faced girl he'd seen in here last week. She smirked at Harry, nodded once in recognition or perhaps in appreciation for the drink he had bought her, and then the two girls went into the bar.

Well, hell. Maybe he wouldn't leave just quite yet. If he stayed in the bar, here, then he would be able to see when Number Thirteen left, or maybe – a tiny voice whispered in his mind – maybe he could go back up there, somehow, and they could try over.

Better give the fellow a chance to get over his anger, he thought, and went into the Leaky Cauldron to order a pint.

Pint in hand, he went wandering in search of an empty table, or even a chair. The place was packed. Finally he caught a stool at the end of the bar counter just as someone was leaving. He had an excellent view of the staircase in the back corner, and he would be able to tell when Number Thirteen left. If he left. He might just stay there all night, all by himself, and then Harry could go up there when it got late, and he would do exactly as he was told just so long as he could stay and not be sent away. Yeah, in his dreams.

People-watching was not his thing tonight. People kept bumping into him, and he kept knocking elbows with the fellow next to him, who was tall and long-limbed and vaguely attractive if you liked that many freckles on a bloke, which, frankly, Harry tended not to. But he was well muscled. Probably an athlete or something. Of course, he was also chatting up a dreamy looking blonde-haired girl on the other side of him from Harry, so he was probably straight as an arrow.

Harry, on the other hand, was straight as a circle, a label which never failed to amuse him. He was on his third pint, he realized, and he wasn't typically much of a drinker so that might have something to do with the amusement level going on at the moment. That was an amusing thought as well.

"Find your fellow last week?"

Harry turned to find the snub-nosed girl (she really was attractive enough, if you liked girls. He just didn't) wedged between him and the wall. The quarters were close, but at least they didn't have to shout to be heard.

"Er. No," he answered, feeling awkward. She had thought he was after that other bloke last week, when in fact he'd gone home alone and dreamed about Number Thirteen.

"Sorry to hear that," she said with a smile that said she wasn't sorry at all. There was a poutiness to her lips that Harry was kind of entranced by, even though it wasn't what you would call _attractive_. It was just... different. Hermione was never pouty.

"What are you thinking about?" the girl purred, tilting her head towards him.

"The girl I live with," Harry answered distractedly. "She's got lips, two of em, but not like yours, which are all curvy."

The pout turned into a devilish smile. "Would you like a... closer inspection of the curves?"

Actually that sounded rather interesting. Harry finished off his pint and set the empty glass on the counter before leaning over and taking a close look. The girl's lips were full, and expressive, and very definitely amused about something. There was a little line around one corner that made the smirk seem even smirkier, and Harry thought he'd seen Number Thirteen smirk kind of like that once – oh, he was supposed to be watching!

"Hey," the girl said softly as he turned away and looked at the stairs. "You're really gone for someone, aren't you? I'm Pansy, by the way." She held out her hand, which he took shook automatically and looked up at her again. "Harry Potter," he said.

"Pleased," she drawled. Harry wasn't sure if she was making fun of him or not, but it didn't seem to matter all that much.

"So," she said after a moment. "Want to tell me about him?"

Harry didn't know how she knew him, but that was all right. "Gorgeous," he sighed. "Well, not in the burly kind of way, or pretty boy way like a model or something." He turned and jerked his head at the tall redhead sitting next to him. "That one you could see in a catalog or something, selling sweaters in fifteen shades of brown. Just look at the lips."

Pansy looked. And nodded. And kept looking. "But yours isn't like that?"

"Nah. Gorgeous, though. He has this way of telling you something with his eyes... not even saying a word, just looks at you and it's like he understands everything."

"Nice," she said. "Hey, are you going to buy me a drink or what?"

A short while later, Pansy had had two and they were deeply engrossed in conversation. He'd given her the stool and was practically leaning up against the redhead next to him, but the boy hadn't seemed to mind so far. Harry thought everyone sure seemed friendly in this place.

"...and his hair is black and long and it's so soft between your fingers that you just want to kiss it."

Pansy frowned a little even as she finished her drink. "That sounds like an old teacher of mine. One more, Tom?"

"What's that you're drinking, anyway?" Harry peered at the next glass the barman brought over.

"Firewhisky." Before Harry could ask what that was, she went on, "Now, you were telling me about your man? What's the problem, he doesn't notice you or something?"

"No, he noticed me. I mean, we already – well, it was kind of a one night thing, and then..."

"Now you want more than one night?" Pansy finished. "Well, that doesn't seem so bad. What does he think about continuing it?"

"That's just it! We were there, I mean here, I mean in the room again and I said sounds good to me, and then he threw me out." Harry slumped against the boy. He'd probably had too much to drink, he realized.

"He threw you out?" Pansy seemed skeptical. "Just because you said it sounded good?"

"No, no – he threw me out because he told me to do something and I didn't do it. Stupid!" Harry had ended on more of a moan, rubbing his forehead with the palm of one hand. "I should have just..."

"You shouldn't just do whatever someone else tells you to do. I mean, what if he had told you to kill your parents or something?"

"Can't. They're already dead." Harry picked up his glass again, but it was just as empty as it had been a moment before when he had put it down. He looked up to see Pansy looking at him with some sort of strange expression. "What?"

"I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't know."

"Yeah, well... it's not like I missed much. From what I heard, they wouldn't have been so great as parents anyway." He put the glass back down and looked for the barman, but the man was busy helping other customers down at the other end.

Pansy was quiet a moment. "What happened to them?"

"Car crash. When I was about a year old. Spent the rest of my childhood with my aunt and uncle or being bounced around at different boarding schools." Harry made a face. "Do you want to talk about this? Because actually it's rather unpleasant for me."

"No, I'm so sorry." Pansy laid a hand on his arm.

Harry waved a hand in the air. "It's all right – oh, sorry." He had bumped into the fellow behind him, who was turning and smiling over him at the girl – Pansy, right.

Harry glanced between them and then at the staircase. This was really turning out to be pathetic.

Pansy must have seen something on his face, because she patted his arm again and turned her attention back to him. "Hey, now, it's okay. You'll work everything out with – what did you say his name was again?"

Harry almost groaned. "I didn't."

She waited. "Well?"

"I don't know his name," Harry admitted. This probably wouldn't sound good, but she had asked and Harry was really bad with coming up with a lie, especially after a couple of drinks. He wished Hermione was here.

Pansy laughed. "Oh, you are unbelievable," she said. "Well, does he hang out here? Is that why you keep coming back? Maybe I know him. I'm something of a regular myself." That smirk again.

Harry looked around. There was such an odd assortment of people here, but it was impossible to imagine Number Thirteen standing around, having a pint, chatting someone up. "I don't see him," he said, disappointed. "But anyway if you knew him you'd never be able to forget him. He's got a voice like... like... I can't even find words to describe it, it's so..." He waved a hand in the air.

"You said he has black hair? Tell me, is it kind of long and a bit lank?"

"Lank?"

"A little greasy. Oily."

"Yeah, I guess so, but it's still nice."

"And his eyes... dark? Almost black?"

Harry frowned. He hadn't mentioned Number Thirteen's eye color earlier. "Yeah. Hey, what..."

"Let me guess. He's about this tall?" She held her hand up at exactly Number Thirteen's height.

Harry stared at her hand for a moment and then his eyes dawned realization in them. "You know him?"

"I do," Pansy said. "In fact... I don't know where he normally spends his weekends, but I certainly know where he'll be Monday morning." This last was said rather smugly, and Harry felt himself begin to hope.

"You do? Where will be be Monday morning?"

Pansy was leaning forward so that she could soften her voice and still be heard. "What will you give me if I tell you?"

As he tried to figure out what she meant, it occurred to Harry that if Number Thirteen did show up on the staircase at that moment, he might see Harry sitting too close to a girl on one side and a boy on the other and being touched and whispered to and it would really be the wrong idea. He wasn't interested in Pansy, but appearances could make people think he was.

He pulled away from Pansy and dug in his pocket for some money for the drinks. "It's been really nice talking to you," he said.

She looked a little put out, but got to her feet. "Ah, well. You should call me sometime. Even just as friends."

"Yeah, what's your number?" He patted his pockets for a pen, but he was a history grad student, not Hermione. He snickered at the thought, then realized Pansy was looking at him oddly.

"I thought you would have a fireplace," she said.

"A... what?"

"A fireplace," she repeated. "You could just Floo me; I'm on the network."

Harry swayed, slightly. "Either you're making up words or I've really had one too many."

They looked at each other for a moment, and then Pansy's eyes widened slightly. "You mean you're not... I thought when you walked in here that you were one of them, for sure."

"One of who?"

"Listen." She put a hand on his shoulder to steady him, and looked into his eyes intently. "Don't you have a brother or sister who can... do things? Strange things?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm an only child."

"Your parents, then."

"They died when I was a baby, remember?"

Pansy frowned. Harry could tell she was thinking through some intricate problem, but he didn't really want to hear about it right now, especially not if it involved his parents and fireplaces and made-up words.

"Look," he said. "If you don't want to tell me where he lives, that's fine. I know where he is right now. I'll go up and talk to him, try to reason with him..."

"Oh, Harry." Pansy patted his shoulder, in a manner frighteningly similar to Hermione. "I'll tell you, but now that I know you're not... I mean, you're not going to be able to get there on your own." She looked at him critically. "But I think we'll be able to come up with something. Come with me."

Dazedly, Harry took her hand.

* * *

The next morning, Severus was in his rooms at the school, debating whether or not to go for his weekly walk down around the lake. It was a habit of so many years, ingrained so deeply, that he thought he would feel rather lost if he didn't go. At odds with himself. And what was he supposed to do instead?

The drawback, of course, was that Remus Lupin knew where he would be and might try to talk to him to find out how his brilliant little scheme had gone. The thought made Severus want to throw something, but the only thing at hand were his own potions ingredients, which he actually wanted to keep. The second drawback was that he would be thinking, and right now he did not want to think so much as to not think. Lost in some kind of oblivion would be nice, not that sleep was any respite considering the way his dreams had left him panting and waking up and tangled with the sheets and whispering Harry's name.

Come to think of it, if he want for a walk perhaps he would get the chance to hex Lupin into the lake, and that would be rather satisfying. He dressed and took his cloak, scarf, and gloves, as the chill in the air was quite a lot though the breeze was down.

He walked across the grounds and managed not to think too many thoughts as he went. All he had to do was focus on his steps, one foot in front of the other, and the grass, and the view of the lake glistening in the early morning sun. He began the circuit of the lake and found himself remembering the first time he'd come down here.

It was back when he had been a student himself, not that he liked to remember those days particularly, as Severus Snape had been one of the less popular boys in his form. The other students had made fun of him for who knows what – he wasn't pretty enough, perhaps, or friendly (at all); he was too clever, and he had his mother's sullen attitude. On top of that he had never made a secret of being queer, even in those days when that sort of thing wasn't done, and he had always found it disgustingly ironic that two of the boys in a group that had used to target him rather mercilessly were now in a homosexual relationship.

Not that Lupin would have any explanation for that, of course. He would just shrug – as Severus had in fact asked him about this very thing before – and say that you never know how things were going to go. He'd also apologized from time to time about some of the things the other boys had done – for not stopping them, or some such rubbish, though Severus didn't really like to think about those days even if it was to accept an apology.

At that thought, he couldn't help thinking that he might be willing to listen to an apology from Harry, not that one was likely to be forthcoming. No, after last night, Severus would almost certainly never see the boy again. Not after he threw him out.

He allowed himself a moment to imagine what might have happened if Harry had come back, just once more, full of apologies and willingness to do what he was told. Strangely, he had the idea that Harry would never be a true submissive, though he seemed willing to play the part on occasion. And yet Severus found himself even more drawn to the young man for his... what was the word? Impulsiveness?

Severus frowned. That word always made him think of Gryffindors, which was not a good thing. Not impulsiveness, then. Harry had a sort of inner _resolve_ that was rather compelling. His frown deepened.

Lupin had been right, he realized with an inward groan. He wanted someone on a more regular basis. He was tired of always being the one to enforce the submissive posture, of breaking them in for other Masters, who got to enjoy the benefit of what he had done. He wanted something more predictable, Merlin help him. The idea of having someone longer term, for himself, who was already familiar with his likes and dislikes… the way Harry had been when he'd found out Severus was the one waiting for him, and wanted to stay anyway. And Severus had just sent him off.

He was an idiot.

Then he saw Lupin, making his way down the slope of the grass toward the lake shore. He wasn't headed right for Severus, but the only way Severus could avoid coming within hailing range of him was to backtrack all the way around the lake, and he was not about to do that. Actually, on the contrary, he was rather looking forward to the confrontation, as this time Lupin was entirely in the wrong.

"'Lo, Severus," Lupin called out as he drew closer.

"Lupin."

"How are you this morning?"

"Let's cut the small talk and discuss a matter of some importance. You set me up."

"I always set you up, Severus. A new one every week, almost every week for the last – "

"That's not what I mean. You set me up with _him_."

At least Lupin didn't try to deny it. "How did it go?" he said, a small smile on his lips.

"Not well. I threw him out of the room in the first two minutes."

"You – what?" Lupin faltered.

"You heard me. If you think I'm going to let someone – anyone – manipulate me like that, you don't know me as well as I thought you did."

"I – Severus, I wasn't trying to manipulate you –"

" _Liar_." Severus was seething now.

Lupin paused. "All right," he said. "I set you up. I set Harry up, too, in case you didn't realize that. You should have seen the way he was acting–"

"Lupin. You are failing to grasp a very important piece of information in this whole matter." Severus' fists were clenched tight at his sides: in the chill air it was rapidly becoming painful.

"And what would that be?"

"He – doesn't – want – me. He doesn't want anything to do with me. Even if he was looking for repeat custom, which he assured me he wasn't–"

"He _was_ , he told me specifically–"

" _Even_ then, as I say, he was expecting someone _else_. He doesn't... want... _me_." The words were like glass shards in his throat and Severus realized again that he was going to lose his grip on his temper.

Lupin was shaking his head. "You're wrong," he said. "He told me – God, Severus, you know I'm not supposed to tell you this – he told he wished you _did_ take people a second time! The only way I got him to agree to see 'someone else' was by playing up how much like _you_ they were! I only set him up with you, no one else was even on the list for a second!"

Severus blinked. He could believe it – it was almost exactly the same thing Lupin had said to him that made him agree to "someone else," after all. But that would mean that Harry had… wanted to see him a second time after all, and he… he had thrown him out of the room?

He was staring at the lake, he realized, and Lupin put a hand on his shoulder. "Are you all right?"

"I…" He needed a chance to process this. It was not something he could think about while standing here chatting with Lupin. But then he realized, it didn't matter what he came up with, because the last thing he had said to Harry had been perfectly crystal clear.

"Severus?"

"Leave me alone, Lupin." Severus felt his eyes begin to sting, and he wanted to be alone before anything else happened. He had made a terrible mistake. He pushed roughly past Lupin and headed towards the main building of the school.

"Severus? I can talk to him, if you like." Lupin was following him, and Severus needed to put an end to this once and for all. With the barest of glances around to make sure they were completely alone, he turned and faced Lupin down, from a few feet higher on the slope which just gave him the edge of height as well.

"You don't understand, Lupin. I don't want to talk to you again. Ever. I don't want to be set up with someone else, not this week or next or ever again." He'd pushed away the only person who'd – Harry had wanted to see him again? "Leave me alone."

This time when he turned, he didn't hear anyone following him.

* * *

Harry had to pinch his arm, hard, to make sure he wasn't dreaming. But it wasn't what he'd been expecting at all.

Pansy had told him that Rannoch Station, out in the wild countryside of northern Scotland, would look deserted. She had said to ignore the desolation and take the one path away from the station, up into the hills, and right up to the "DO NOT ENTER" signs. Or maybe it was "GO AWAY;" she hadn't been sure what the exact wording was. But she said the sign was definitely there and he should definitely wait right beside it until someone came along.

The first problem had come when he'd arrived at the station to find it just outside a bustling little town. If this was Pansy's idea of "deserted," he would hate to see what she called "built up." Little old-fashioned shops lined the hard-packed streets, and men, women, and children were moving about on errands or stopping to chat with one another. None of them were paying him the slightest bit of attention.

At least he'd been able to find the path Pansy had told him to take, and headed up through the low hills along the moor. He was bundled up in his warmest gear to keep the chill out, but Scotland must have been on a different weather system than what he was used to. It looked like it was threatening to snow, which he was not prepared for at all.

Then he turned a corner in the path and had come to this vision, the one that made him pinch himself to make sure he was awake.

There was a castle, farther along the very path he was walking. It hung along a series of cliffs above a small, glistening lake, looking for all the world as if it should have tumbled into the water a hundred years ago. Or maybe a thousand; parts of the castle looked _old_.

The path led to a gate in the fence that surrounded the castle. There were no signs on the gate at all, and Harry wondered how Pansy had managed to leave this part out of her description.

Slowly, he stepped up to the gate and examined it. It looked old, but well cared for, and the chain winding through the bars made it clear that it was locked.

Evening was coming on, early here in the highlands, and Harry had no desire to be stuck out here in the snow waiting for someone to come along – after all, if Pansy had been wrong about how busy the station was, maybe she was wrong about this too.

He sighed and put his hand on the chain. To his shock, it began to move, sliding through the bars until it was entirely on one side of the gate. He pushed, and the gate opened.

Too bewildered to wonder what had happened, he started for the castle. With a little bit of luck he could make it indoors before it began to snow, and he could figure out where to go from there.

As he neared, he began to see just how huge the castle really was. The whole thing was stone and scrollwork, built with gorgeous attention to detail, and every step brought some new piece or touch into view that he hadn't noticed before. Battlements, towers, crenellations along one side; the whole thing a beautiful sprawl of wings and additions as if someone had built it without caring how much the odd shape would increase the heating or maintenance costs (which Harry had heard time and again from his uncle as sensible reasons why everyone should live in squat cubes of houses). It was breathtaking, and it was calling out to Harry, drawing him in.

The front steps were a work of art. He almost hated to step on them, but it was the only way to get to the doors. This time, he wasn't surprised when he was able to open them and go inside.

He moved through the front hall without thinking, letting his feet choose corridors and stairs, only belatedly realizing that he was always moving down. He barely noticed the few people he passed in the halls – they registered as younger than him, and he was aware of some kind of uniform, scholarly robes of some sort, and somewhere in the back of his head he decided it must be a school.

He found himself, some time later, looking at a door in what must be one of the lower floors of the castle. He had no real idea why this particular door was the one he'd been drawn to.

"Brothers or sisters doing strange things?" he muttered, remembering Pansy's odd question from the night before. "Hell, _I'm_ doing things I don't understand, now."

Suddenly the door opened, and Harry wondered for a wild second if it had somehow heard him, until he saw who stood on the other side, and all rational thought fled from his mind: Number Thirteen.

"Uh... hi," Harry said.

Number Thirteen stared at him.

"You said not to back to the Leaky Cauldron, and I'm not, but I needed to tell you that I'm sorry I didn't... I mean, Mr. Lupin set us up, obviously, and I think we should both be angry with him instead of each other." Harry took a breath. "I mean, I'd like to start over. If you're willing."

Number Thirteen moved then, taking hold of Harry's wrist and pulling him bodily into the room beyond. The door slammed and Harry barely had time to register a neat, sparsely furnished sitting room before Number Thirteen gripped his shoulders and then there was nowhere he could look but those eyes.

"How did you get here?" Number Thirteen rasped.

"I... I had some help."

"Obviously," the other man muttered. "If Lupin was the one that let you in the gate, I swear I'll..."

Harry shook his head. "No one let me in the gate. It opened when I touched it."

Number Thirteen's hands dropped, and he took a step back. "Impossible."

"Look, I don't really know what this place is, but I'm not a liar. I walked up to the gate and touched it and it opened." When Number Thirteen didn't answer right away, Harry went on less stridently, "Can I assume you're not going to throw me out this time?"

There was a moment of silence, then, "Yes."

Harry blinked. "Yes you are, or yes I can assume that?"

"Harry..." Number Thirteen reached a hand out again, this time letting his fingertips trail down Harry's arm. "You're really here," he murmured.

That sounded encouraging. "Yes," Harry said.

"I don't care how you got here," Number Thirteen said abruptly. "I want you to stay a while, Harry, and I... I don't know how to ask you."

"How about you just say, 'Harry, let's do the courting thing later, but for now let me show you my bedroom?'" For a minute Harry held his breath – had he overstepped his bounds?

Number Thirteen stepped close to him again, sliding his hands up Harry's arms and around to his back. Harry began to relax, but his body couldn't help but tense in anticipation when Number Thirteen began to speak again.

"Harry," he murmured, mouth close to Harry's ear. "Let's do the courting thing later, but for now... Let me show you my bedroom." Lips pressed against his neck, and Harry shivered.

"Oh, yes, er... yes sir."

"Call me Severus," Number Thirteen said, pulling Harry's body against his.

"Severus," Harry agreed, and kissed him.

* * *

Some time later, they walked leisurely through the corridors of the castle, Harry asking questions about everything – architecture and moving portraits, ghosts and history – while Severus puzzled over the mystery of Harry's entry into the school grounds.

"Tell me one more time," he said, and Harry sighed impatiently. He would much rather talk about the things he was seeing, Severus knew, and he tried to sympathize by remembering the first time he'd seen Hogwarts.

"She said I wouldn't see anything, but there was a whole town by the station. Then she said there would be 'keep out' signs, and instead I saw a gate. I touched it and it opened and I walked right in."

He would have to remember to thank Miss Parkinson later, Severus decided. "Obviously, she thought you were a Muggle. The gate can be seen by Squibs, of course–"

"What's a Squib?"

"Any child of a wizard who is not himself a wizard," Severus answered automatically. If Harry was a Squib, though, it still wouldn't explain how he'd opened the gate.

Harry paused to look out one of the windows in the high corridor they were currently in. "What do they call children when both parents are magical, then?"

Severus shrugged slightly. "It doesn't matter. As long as one parent is a wizard, then the children will be either Squibs or wizards."

"And everyone else is called a Muggle."

"Yes."

Harry looked thoughtful for a moment. "Pansy asked if I had a brother or sister who could do 'strange' things. She must have thought I was a Squib, at first. But when I told her I was an only child, she concluded I was a Muggle."

Severus nodded. Squibs were often part of their family's wizarding life, but Muggles would have no knowledge at all of things like Hogsmeade and Floo calls. Still... there was something in the logic was bothering him. Harry turned to face him just then, and he completely lost his train of thought when Harry's green eyes found his.

"She concluded I was a Muggle, because I didn't know about Floo calls. But what if I had a wizard parent who just didn't tell me about magic?"

"Impossible. Wizards are obligated to send all children that are not Squibs to school to learn how to use their magic properly."

"But what if–"

"It just isn't done, Harry." Harry could not be a wizard. Wizards did not go unnoticed, living in the Muggle world until age twenty-one. _But it would explain why the gate had opened for him._ Severus shook his head, but Harry was already taking a breath to continue.

"Severus, my parents died when I was a baby and the only thing I know about them is what my aunt and uncle chose to tell me. Maybe they lied. Maybe my mother was really a witch, and she fell in love with someone who wasn't a wizard, and they had a baby and that's why her family hated her – or maybe he was the wizard, or maybe they both were. I don't know. All I know is when I stepped into this place, I felt like I was home." Harry waved a hand, taking in the stone floors, the suits of armor, the portraits hanging on the walls. "I don't want to leave, and I don't want to go back to university. I want to know why my heart feels like it's finally free. I want to know how this place came to be, the history–" he put his hand on the wall– "of every brick, every painting, every person that ever walked these halls."

Harry's breath caught, and Severus stepped forward to grasp his arm. There was a simple question that could take care of this, he realized.

"What were your parents' names?" he asked quietly.

"My mother was Lily Evans..." Harry paused, obviously hopeful, and Severus had to shake his head. He'd never heard the name. "And my father was James Potter."

"Potter..." Severus frowned. That did sound familiar, actually. He cast his memory back, to school days he'd tried to forget about, and came up with a vision of a boy with unruly black hair and spectacles, one of the Gryffindors that had made his life so difficult during his time at Hogwarts.

He looked at Harry, seeing him through the memory of James Potter, and there could be no mistaking the similarity. "Your father was a wizard, Harry."

Harry's face split into a broad grin. "Really? Then I _am_ a wizard? Maybe?"

"Not 'maybe.' You have a wizard parent and you're not a Squib, which means you are a wizard – or perhaps I should say will be, once we've got you trained up."

"What do I need to do? Will you teach me?" Harry was almost trembling with excitement.

"Before you can do anything, you'll need a wand. And yes, I will teach you. I do know a few things about magic." Severus felt the tug of a smile pulling at his lips.

Harry threw his arms around Severus. "Oh, I'm sure you have _lots_ of things you can teach me."

His suggestive tone sent a thrill through Severus' body, and he decided there was something to the idea of letting the other person have some initiative when it came to the bedroom.

Perhaps Harry had a lot to teach him in return.


End file.
